Walking A Knife Edge
by WesLess
Summary: Faith has her missions and Wesley's going to help her. He may not know it yet, but he will. If there's anything Faith is good at, it's getting what she wants, and the sooner he accepts it, the better. AU S3 FaithWesley
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

Spoilers: Through season 3.

Summary: AU from the episode Loyalty onwards. Another version of what could have happened after possibly the best Wesley episode of the series.

Feedback: Please with sugar on top.

Hi there. Remember me?

No? Let me give you some clues. I know you 21st century types think you're all world wise and jaded. Nothing shocks you people anymore. You've probably seen hundreds of demons like me, and I bet we all look the same to you, am I right? Well, I'm not exactly so easy to forget.

The haircut is usually where most people get stuck. It can really knock a guy's self-confidence to know that he can be judged so quickly. And there's really no need to point out the hideously disfiguring facial scars. I know they're there, okay? But don't let the tough, evil hell-being exterior fool you. I'm really a nice guy once you get to know me. Hell, centuries of inter-dimensional time travel really lets you see past all that megalomaniac crap, you know? I've seen it and done it all, and then some. And I still don't have time to get bitter. Figures. If it's for a good reason though, I can sometimes summon the energy. But I'll get on to that later.

I have a great sense of humour, which is why I can take any digs you might feel like making about my robes. (What can I say, I'm a traditionalist.) Plus I have the added knowledge that not only am I gonna be around for much longer than you can even imagine, but I have also seen places, times and things you could never dream of. As a master of time shifting, I know just how to change things to make sure you don't have a nice future, or maybe even exist at all, know what I'm saying? So don't piss me off, 'cause you really don't want to know what a lifetime of suffering feels like.

Having said that, most people don't need to worry. I have much bigger fish to fry, and one in particular you've probably heard about. They call him Angel. Oh, you know who I'm talking about, huh? I thought as much. You humans are way too into your heroes. It's kinda pathetic, actually. Anyways, there was this prophecy… Don't tell me, you know all about that too. Good. At least I can skip the boring part. I'll just recap the ending for you, 'cause that's kinda the important bit and it's part of the reason why I can still bring myself to be sort of vengeful and, I hate to use the word but, downright nasty. This event kind of calls for it.

I, the ancient mystical power that is Sah'jahn, was killed. The fake prophecy I conveniently delivered into the hands of my foretold enemy failed to do its job. The original prediction held true and I was mercilessly slain by Angel's annoying brat spawn after a very uncomfortable stay in that damned urn. They don't give you much room in there, let me tell you.

I guess I should have known. True prophecies have a habit of coming up with the goods, and there's nothing you can do to stop them. I know that _now_. I guess at the time I was just overly hopeful, but then there wouldn't be much point in having the things if they weren't always right. They wouldn't be divine.

I've learned my lesson. But how come we're having this conversation now, you're wondering. Am I not in hell? Well of course I'm not, dumbass. I wouldn't be the nigh invincible baddie I am now if I didn't always have a backup plan. That's half the fun of inhabiting different dimensions. Die in one of them and a parallel universe can always be commandeered for another try. I learned that trick a long time ago. What, you didn't think I'd leave something like that to chance, did you? It's just that I'm kinda running low on options now, so I'd rather save as many of my habitable existences as I can. Hence why I was so keen on not dieing in the world you're so fond of. That, and I'd kinda grown attached to the place. They served a fine latté there.

So what's so different about this new dimension, I hear you ask. Well, apart from the absence of milky coffees, it's still pretty much the same. Angel's still a big player in the apocalypse (go figure, some things never change) and Wolfram and Hart continue to run the place. I, however, managed to get to the pond scum that doomed me last time before he got the chance to prophesise my death, so I'm hoping I don't have anything to worry about now.

I still want the kid to die though, just in case. That and I know what an irritating little sonofabitch it could turn out to be. That's why I pulled some very big strings and managed to get my little work of art declared as a genuine prophecy. After all, I want Angel to pay for his part in what happened last time, and as we all know, what better way to get to him than through his offspring? As for the vampire hunter, what a waste of time that was. The only favour he did me was to cause a bit of trouble. He sure did a number on the kid.

Without Holtz around, it might not have turned out to be so god-damned moody. And it certainly wouldn't have gotten so old and well-trained so quickly. Guess I kinda planned my own demise there. I won't make the same mistake again. I think the guy got finished off by Angelus back in the day 'cause I didn't freeze him in time. Too bad.

So what do you think? Nice plan, huh? I can tell you're impressed. I can also tell you want to know just how that's gonna work out for the whole sorry bunch. Well, I suppose I could spare a few hours in my hectic schedule to tell you about it. I do so love to get the occasional bit of appreciation for all the hard work I put in, and a little fearful awe on your part wouldn't go amiss either.

Let me just warn you not to get too optimistic. Things tend to have a habit of working out along the same lines no matter what dimension you're in, 'cause when you get the same group of people coming together under the same kinds of pressures… You get the idea. I think, though, that you'll be unpleasantly surprised by some of the events that unfold, which kind of makes my centuries of planning and dedication worth while. I can never hear enough gasps or see enough squirming from you lot when it comes to my evil deeds. So, if you're sitting comfortably, (or whatever, I don't really care if your ass goes numb or not), I'll begin…

Ever since the dream this morning, Wesley's felt like he's been slowly going mad. He can't seem to stop his hands from shaking. Maybe it's the copious amounts of coffee he's been pouring down his throat to keep himself alert, or maybe it's the fact he hasn't eaten anything bar his own fingernails for the last couple of days. Then again, maybe it's the lack of sleep. He can't remember the last time he had a full night, and that was before this mess even came to his attention. He'd been so intent on finding information about Connor's miracle birth that he had completely forgotten about rest.

It would explain why he's feeling increasingly unhinged. Coupled with the intense emotional stress, the physical exertion is killing him. That awful nervous fluttering in the pit of his stomach hasn't gone away for hours now and it's starting to prevent him from thinking straight. The cold dread that washes over him every time he sees Angel is only adding to the strain.

That's why he can't quite work out why he's up here now sitting in Angel's room while he makes a meal for the baby on the stove. He thinks maybe he had persuaded himself to finally confront Angel and tell him everything, but he seems to have mislaid the energy with which to do anything of the sort. Somewhere halfway between the office and here, his intentions morphed into an urgent need to check on Connor, to make sure he and Angel were still alright.

Watching this infuriatingly domestic scene now, he can't quite imagine why he felt the desire so strongly. It seems like nothing worse than a crying fit from the baby or a badly needed nappy change could possibly happen.

The ridiculousness of his situation finally hits Wesley then, and he can't help but begin a half-crazed laughing fit when Angel mentions something about the philosophy of life. If life has taught Wesley anything, it's that it is cruel. Even so, he never used to be such a cynic, and it strikes him that maybe he's taking all of this a bit too seriously. Worrying about things that will never happen indeed. That's the understatement of his life of late.

Angel smiled along with him, if slightly confused, pleased just to have someone understand his sentiments. Wesley doesn't care that Angel has no idea what he's talking about, he's just glad to let it all out.

But the temporary relief he feels after finally admitting defeat is short-lived. The violent tremor shaking the room catches them both by surprise, but that's where the similarity ends. Whereas Angel panics and rushes frantically to protect his precious Connor, Wesley just stares helplessly, caught up in the event playing out before him. The falling debris plays the background soundtrack as the stove tips and explodes into shooting flames, setting nearby furniture on fire.

And all he can do is stand as his mind goes blank, horror consuming him. The calm certainty that this sequence of disasters would take place removes any shock. If he's honest with himself, he knew this would happen. He doesn't have time to be concerned for his own well-being, or even the short-term safety of Connor or Angel. He's too afraid for what is certain to happen now that the portents have begun to arrive and he knows that, by default, Connor and Angel will be fine until they can fulfil their part.

Maybe a small part of him wanted to die in that very room and that's what kept him glued to the spot. Or maybe he's just too drained to respond to the crisis properly. Whatever the reason, he had little time to ponder. Shouting his name, Angel pulled him roughly by his coat collar, flinging him out of the room and sending him crashing into the corridor wall.

The pain of the sudden collision and the unwarranted force with which he was delivered broke his stupor and renewed his anxiety. Angel seemed to be nothing but gentle however as he cradled Connor in his arms and fussed over him. The gash across Angels head dripped sluggish blood onto the baby's sky-blue blanket.

Earthquake, fire, blood. There could no longer be any doubt. And as Angel raised his head to speak, Wesley's heart froze.

"At least I would have had something to snack on," he smirked.

Fred picked herself up from the floor of her room, helped along by Gunn's strong arm.

"You okay?" he asked her, concerned.

She smiled her affirmative to him as she ducked slightly, still mindful of the falling items spilling from the shelves around her.

"Connor…" she started suddenly, her eyes wide with worry. She didn't need to finish her sentence for Gunn to understand and the pair of them put aside their own shaken worries as they sprinted together to Angel's room.

They had barely rounded the corner in the corridor when they saw him standing there, Connor safe and unharmed in his arms. Gunn blew out a relieved sigh as he slowed next to them, running his eyes over them both to check for himself. Fred went straight to Angel's side to stroke Connor's head.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked, not taking her eyes from the child.

"We're good," Angel replied.

Gunn looked down at Wesley's still stunned face, waiting for a response that didn't come. He frowned, and with a cautious look back into the burning room, moved around to help him stand.

"Wesley. Wes!" He still got no answer as he pulled the stumbling man upright. "Are you hurt?"

Wesley jerked his arm out of Gunn's hold and stepped back a few paces, his dazed expression fixed. He continued to alternate between staring at the blood on the floor at Angel's feet and searching the guy's face.

"Angel, you're cut", Fred gasped after noticing the wound on his head for the first time.

Angel assured her that he was fine and went back to cooing at Connor, clearly not worried about wiping the gathering pool from the child's covering despite its continued flow. Fred refrained from tending the injury and instead turned her attention to Wesley. After seeing him watching the trickle with such fascination, she exchanged a concerned glance with Gunn.

"Maybe we should get downstairs away from this," she tried tentatively, motioning towards the damage in the hope that one of them would snap out of it.

Angel finally seemed to get the idea, a more serious expression settling on his face.

"Right, yeah, you're right. It might not be safe up here. What about…"

"I got it," Gunn finished for him, lugging a fire extinguisher into the room.

"Come on, Wesley," Fred encouraged gently, taking him by the wrist and following Angel down to the lobby. The sound of Gunn's battle with the fire faded behind them as he finally got the blaze under control.

Once in the lobby, Angel set about tucking Connor into his basinet and calming the frightened infant. He soon settled under his father's calming ministrations, the rocking motion and soothing voice drying the tears.

Leaving Wesley to stare at the floor as he sat on the couch deep in troubled thought, Fred approached Angel with a clean cloth and began dabbing at his head. The fast healing had already begun to do its job and had sealed the opening. She wiped away the mess and took the opportunity to lean in close to Angel's ear.

"What's wrong with Wesley?" she asked him quietly.

Angel looked round as if seeing the man for the first time and frowned at what he saw.

"He was acting weird when he came up," he told her. "I don't think he was hurt, but he just stood there. I had to pull him out myself. Maybe it's just the shock."

"He has been kinda stressed out just lately," she agreed. She stuck a bandage in place from the first aid kit. "I'll talk to him."

She fiddled around with some of the medical items in the bag for a while, straightening them and sorting them, all the while glancing covertly in Wesley's direction. He hadn't moved. She slowly made her way over to where he was sat, wringing her hands.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked him. He said nothing. She looked up at Angel, but he just shrugged. She tried again a little more cheerfully. "Do you need me to look at anything?"

"I'm fine, Fred," he told her flatly, still not looking at her. Taken aback slightly by his tone, she turned gratefully to find Gunn returning from upstairs.

Wesley closed his eyes briefly with relief when she finally left him alone. The small measure of guilt he felt for such a harsh rebuff faded rapidly as he listened to her chat happily with Gunn. They acted out the familiar scene, with Gunn feigning a mortal battle injury and Fred swooning over his heroics. It was just harmless fun, but it made Wesley feel slightly sick.

He was immediately reminded of just why he had elected not to involve them in his dilemma in the first place. It wasn't that he didn't necessarily trust them to help, he just didn't believe they would truly care that much. After all, they had as yet failed to notice or mention his obvious deterioration or his building obsession with his work. Even Angel's guilt triggering statement 'you're a good friend' hadn't really seemed heartfelt, as he had only Connor's best interests in mind.

It hadn't worried Wesley at the time though, as he didn't actually believe himself to be a good friend at all. At least not in the sense that Angel had meant it. Besides, he was quite ready to admit that he was not a man that was beyond jealousy, and he couldn't bring himself to get over his petty reservations. They didn't know of Angelus like he did, and had certainly never met him. Confiding in Fred and Gunn just wasn't an option.

He liked to think that if Cordelia was around, she would help him through. He knew he was lying to himself, but he couldn't help it. In truth, he no longer recognised the person who inhabited the Cordelia-shaped space in their group anymore. The last year had been tough on her, he knew, and she had changed. What with Groo around and the arrival of Connor, her almost complete attitude turn-around and serene new personality sometimes made him long for the old days.

If she was protective of Angel back then when he had wrongly accused him of killing people in his sleep, she was certain to take his side again over this. No, Cordelia was unfortunately an unlikely ally.

That left him with few choices. He had no one else to consult, no other sources from which to find advice or, more crucially, some proof that challenged or debunked the prophecy. He didn't even know how long he had since the last of the portents before the event came to pass.

Fred didn't seem to realise just how close he had been to telling her everything right then, because he didn't think he could take much more. The burden was too much. He couldn't shoulder it all on his own. Thankfully, she hadn't pushed far enough, and he had managed to control himself. Didn't she understand that every kind word from her was like a torture?

He glanced round finally to catch the three of them whispering conspiratorially and watching him. He was too tired to feel the least bit embarrassed and simply turned his head away again, enduring their gaze. It occurred to him that they were probably concocting some plan to confront him. They were working out the best way with which to tackle him about his state of mind, and he desperately didn't want to talk about it.

They wanted to feel better about themselves by helping him out, and if he hadn't been feeling so bitter, maybe he'd have taken pity on them. As it was, he was fed up of being a liar. He was not fine, and he was no longer going to tell them otherwise, but he wasn't ready to fill them in, either. To avoid the whole issue, he got up and shut himself in the office without a word in their direction, much to their obvious disappointment.

The full hour it took for Angel to finally summon up the courage to enter the office astonished Wesley. He had listened as Gunn and Fred had said their goodbyes and gone home or to their room…or wherever it was they went these days. He had waited until Angel had put the sleeping Connor to bed after the fitful infant had finally recovered from his interrupted feeding. He even thought he heard Angel rearranging some disturbed furniture.

Wesley had been patient. The much needed solitude had allowed him to come to his decision, no matter how unpleasant the prospect. He had steeled his resolve. There was nothing else he could do, but that didn't mean he wasn't still shaking inside. He both awaited and dreaded Angel's arrival.

There was a quick knock on the office door and Angel entered, a half empty glass of blood in one hand. Wesley's ominous face clearly did not reassure the vampire and he deflated slightly, the cheerful look disappearing. Wesley continued to watch him, waiting for him to start. He dithered.

He surprised himself, but Wesley actually became slightly irritated at that point. He knew that they had probably already realised he was in a dark mood, but he resented being tip-toed around and wished that Angel would just get to the point. He couldn't wait any longer.

"So…" Angel eventually began, only to be immediately interrupted.

"Angel," he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know what you said to me up there in the hallway earlier?"

Angel frowned, thinking the question through. He answered slowly, as if still puzzled by Wesley's intention.

"I don't really remember everything I might have said, it was kind of a blur what with everything going on, you know?"

Wesley nodded his understanding. "That's fair enough, Angel, but…"

"Look, if I yelled, I'm sorry, but I was just worried," Angel cut in. "I didn't mean it."

"That's not what I meant." Wesley sighed. This was not the time to dance around the issue. "You told me that at least you would have had something to snack on. Don't you remember?"

The look on Angel's face told him that he probably didn't, but the denial came anyway.

"Wesley, that's ridiculous. It was just a joke, for Christ's sake!"

Wesley had expected that, but he continued anyway, as determined as ever. Without taking his eyes from Angel's, he leaned forward in his chair and pushed his book and notepad across the desk into his line of sight. Angel went rigid.

The Father Will Kill The Son.

"You must have made some mistake," Angel said dangerously, his quiet tone of voice leaving nothing to the imagination.

"There is no mistake," Wesley simply replied.

Angel moved slowly to the side of the desk and gently placed his glass on the surface. He took the time to make sure Wesley felt the full implication of his words.

"Get out."

"What? Angel…"

"I said GET OUT!"

Angel flung himself across the room and lifted Wesley with him by the throat. Refusing to struggle or resist, Wesley allowed himself to be trapped against the wall with Angel growling in his face. He tried to remain calm.

"I didn't write the prophecy…"

"I ought to kill you right here, but I won't, because I don't do that sort of thing," Angel told him. Wesley wanted to add that he usually didn't attack or threaten his friends either but couldn't find the air. "You have five seconds to leave this hotel before I throw you out."

And what choice did he have but to obey? As he left his life behind, a little part of the old Wesley closed off forever.


	2. Chapter 2: The Spell

Disclaimer: They're not mine, if only.

Feedback: Thanks for the reviews guys, appreciated. To answer your questions, unfortunately for us, Fred/Gunn will be appearing in this fic to stay true to the characters and the story lines of the series. I don't like it, you don't like it, but it has to be done. Cordy/Groo will be mentioned as may the highly icky Angel /Cordy (not one of my personal favourites). As for the biggy, go to my profile page if you want a clue, but it will probably become quite obvious.

Author's note: The precise structure of this story hasn't yet made itself known to me, although I have some ideas of where I want it to end up. I'm trying to incorporate seasons three and four in a kind of squashed version of reality to hurry it along a little, as well as add some ideas of my own, but if there's some way it could be more true to the series, feel free to let me know.

……………….

When Angel finally hit the rock bottom of a tremendous downer, the realisation hit them all.

Fred was willing to let his frenzied attack on the Wraithers slide. She understood that sometimes the release of the battle was easy to get lost in. She had even tolerated his strange mood all the way back to the hotel without saying anything. But when he yelled at Connor she found herself truly shocked.

She had covered it with anger at first, trying to make Angel acknowledge just what he was saying. It was only when the glass of blood shattered against the wall with such force that she had admitted to herself that she was frightened.

She didn't think she had ever seen Angel talk or act that way before. She understood from what little Angel had told of the encounter that his dismissal of Wesley had perhaps been a bit harsh, but she had put that down to a father's desire to protect his child. She didn't know all the facts, but the way he had explained it to them had made it sound like Wesley had been way out of line.

They hadn't spoken of him since, and Gunn seemed unwilling to even discuss the subject if it meant going beyond Angel's wishes. He and Wes weren't on the best of terms, she knew, and she had decided to give everyone a few days to cool off before she would approach Wesley herself. If she was honest, their recent case had taken up most of their time so far in order to help Lorne out.

She wondered now if her view of the situation was in fact the correct one.

Angel looked up, distraught. "What's wrong with me?"

She got to work analysing the blood in his glass as soon as Lorne suggested a spike, not even needing to report her results to the group. Angel beat her to it, confessing his suspicions. She felt sickened.

Wolfram and Hart were the obvious culprits of course, and she sensed Gunn bristling with anger beside her. Angel, however, remained quietly disgusted with himself rather than giving in to the extreme display of fury she would have expected from him, even without the human blood in his system.

Lorne hushed the baby, at a loss for what to do. He offered Connor to his father.

"I really don't think that's such a good idea," Angel said.

Fred was grateful when Lorne got the hint and offered to take him upstairs for a feed.

"You know what I would do if I were you?" Gunn said. "I'd hunt out that bitch Lilah and snap her neck. This is bound to be down to her. Only she'd come up with something that twisted. Remember what she did to Cordy?"

Angel remained silent for a few minutes, thinking Gunn's suggestion through. He had to admit that had been the first thing that had come to mind, but after willing himself not to get carried away with his immediate reaction and do something he would regret, he realised that the woman had probably unwittingly done him a huge favour.

In light of what Wesley had revealed to him the day before, it occurred to him that the man had been right to confront him. If this incident showed nothing else, it was that he could never be completely certain that he would not hurt his own son. There were just too many factors he had not been willing to consider before, least of all the constant danger that he may one day become Angelus again. His enemies were always finding new and unexpected ways of messing with him and his friends and could easily trigger the fulfilment of the prophecy by no fault of his own.

He rubbed at his face with his hands, still ashamed of himself for his actions. He of all people should have noticed that something was very wrong, and he felt like he'd let everyone down. It was time to make it up to them and prove to himself that he could still do something right.

"Lilah will be safe from me tonight," he announced, noting Gunn's disapproving snort and Fred's resulting admonishment. "We have more important things to do. We have to make sure I can't hurt Connor."

………….

Now, don't say I didn't warn you. And this is only the beginning. Things can get so much worse for Angel, I can assure you. But hey, I'm not completely made of stone, you know. I never intended for Holtz to jump into Quortoth last time and mess things up, I just wanted the kid dead. I also didn't plan to get any of the others involved. Unfortunately for them, they tend to take it upon themselves to protect the vampire and his damn kid. Shame. I kinda liked the guts they showed.

Let me redeem myself slightly by promising you that, whilst Angel may well get his comeuppance for what he did to me, stuff can still improve for everyone else. Let's just say I'm with the people who'd rather not see the apocalypse take place too soon. I'm evil, not stupid. In no way would the destruction of the earth benefit my plans. The kid's death would kill two birds with one stone. No pain for me, no slavery of the human race. Everybody wins.

So, with no accelerated growth, the kid is not gonna be impregnating anyone with his evil, world-ending spawn any time soon. But that doesn't mean that the Powers responsible for orchestrating the whole thing are just gonna sit idly by. Let's just say that if they ever knew of my part in upsetting the time schedule for the arrival of the apocalypse, I wouldn't be too popular. But anyway, no one's gonna tell them, so they'll never know.

You know about the seer, right? Ah, good. So hopefully you know what to expect. And you've probably realised that by now the darker powers behind the visions are starting to have more of an influence. They've made an appearance once or twice already, like with Pylea, for example. Ever asked yourself why it was so essential for that random girl to be rescued? None of the other humans were brought back and, let's face it, the rocky truce they have is never gonna last. That was just a cover for the true purpose. The girl is the catalyst for the break up of the Angel group and thus the arrival of Jasmine.

I think I've managed to avoid that sequence of events quite nicely, though. The break up has still happened, but it's far more repairable now, you've gotta admit. And it's ironic. The halting of the kid's destiny has sped up the onset of the apocalyptic plans. I guess the dark powers are getting anxious. Anyways, you'll see what I mean. Just 'cause they can't bring Jasmine into the world just yet, doesn't mean they can't use the kid to spark it all in a different way, does it?

And then of course there's the big battle. I personally believe that wouldn't have gone so bad and killed so many of the major players had the dark powers not succeeded in splitting the group so spectacularly. Thus my little altering of the time line has some chance of re-uniting them and, ultimately, saving their lives. Guess you never figured me for a guardian angel type, did ya? Let's just say that if I want the world to carry on ticking just the way it is, and I do, thank you very much, I'd rather have as many champions on my side as possible. They probably wouldn't see themselves as being on my side exactly, but hey, I can live with that. I don't care if they understand my evil motivations or not. And you don't need to worry either, you'll be long dead by the time my ultimate plan comes into fruition.

So there you have it. No need to thank me, averting major disasters is all in a days work. Just don't complain too much when everything isn't all rainbows and happy bunnies for a while, okay?

……….

Little did Angel know that had he tried to find Lilah that night, he would have had no luck. She'd been busy, visiting perhaps the last place he'd have thought to search for her, and she'd told no one about it.

Those fools at the firm wouldn't know a diamond opportunity if it hit them in the face. And it would be right up Gavin's street to try and ruin something like this if it meant getting one over on her. He couldn't even begin to realise what it could mean. As for the insufferable Linwood and his ineffective plans for Angel and the kid, he could rot in the grave he had dug for himself. She and only she would be claiming the credit for this next move.

It had been surprisingly successful if what she had seen had been correct. She was confident that now the ball had started rolling, permanently separating Angel from his grounding group of pet humans would naturally follow and would be fairly simple. It was just a pity it had not begun sooner. She had always known that they were the key to getting to Angel. He had shown that to be true many times before. It was just a pity that it had taken this long for a break up within the group to occur that was not directly attributable to her. It meant she could go ahead without fear of interference from Angel.

An ex-watcher would make a perfect addition to her team.

………..

"I've got something!" Fred announced excitedly and perhaps a bit too loudly, shrinking back when Gunn, Lorne and Angel almost fell off their seats. She mumbled an apology and continued more calmly. "I mean, I think this might be something we can use."

She shifted from her seat, offering the computer station to Angel. He took a seat and scrolled through the page, nodding as he took it in.

"A protective spell," he stated, confirming Fred's finding for the others. She tapped energetically on the back of his chair, nervously seeking their approval.

"It can be used to protect a loved one from any specified threat," she reported.

"Damn. They put that sort of thing on the internet?"

"It's a crazy world we live in, Gunn my friend," Lorne told him knowledgably. "You don't want to know what you might find if you look hard enough. It's scary."

Gunn gave him an odd look and he raised an eyebrow to indicate his seriousness.

"So what do you think? Can we use it? Will it work?"

Gunn reached round to pull Fred close to him. "That's my girl, the electronic queen."

She blushed slightly and gave him a playful swat on the chest. He beamed at her a little wider.

Angel remained quiet and chewed on his pencil, carefully reading through all the information. There was a lot at stake here, and he wanted to be sure. He didn't know how much trust they should be putting in something they could find on the web of all places, but if it was a workable option, he was going to consider it. He was having little luck elsewhere. As for their record with spells and magic in general, this was going to have to be prepared as carefully as possible.

He leant back in the chair. "There's only one problem as far as I can see."

"Oh no," Fred said, "I knew there would be something wrong. If it looks too good to be true, it usually is."

"It's not that," Angel assured her, trying not to crush her sense of achievement. "It's just that I'm not sure how to make it work. We need to get it checked out to make sure it's genuine. I want to know what all this stuff means to make sure we do it right."

He indicated several lines of gibberish in the corresponding book, none of which looked familiar to him. Lorne leaned in for a better look.

"You understand any of that?" Angel asked him hopefully.

"Well, it's definitely demonic, that I can tell you. But I'm Shirley Temple if I can read it."

Angel tapped his pencil on the table. "I don't know what it means or how to decipher it."

"So… what exactly are you saying?" Gunn asked, already suspecting the answer.

Angel sighed. "It means we need Wesley."

………..

The visit from Lilah was not completely unexpected. Wolfram and Hart were the ever circling vultures, waiting for some small weakness to show before they swooped down to defile the remains. They had probably been watching him for some time. What had surprised him was his own reaction to what should have just been a quickly dismissed annoyance. The woman had struck a chord with him, and he found himself dwelling on very unhealthy thoughts.

He hadn't been left alone long however before he was disturbed again by a knock. He scowled, imagining that she had returned for one last attack on his ever darkening ego, and decided not to answer. She could shout her insults through the door for all he cared. He was going to enjoy his drink, and he was damned if he was going haul himself up from his comfortable position on the couch. Besides, he didn't need her help to slip further into bitterness.

"Wesley? Are you in there?"

For Christ's sake. There was no mistaking Fred's voice. He cringed and took another long swallow, hoping she would go away on her own. Someone tried the door handle.

"Maybe he's gone out," Gunn's hushed voice told her.

Wesley growled irritably to himself, beyond frustration at the unwelcome intrusion. No doubt they wanted something from him, having finally made the effort to approach him, and not only were they expecting him to answer, but the entire bloody cavalry was here. That unpleasant, prickly, dreading feeling told him that Angel was probably out there too.

"He's in there."

There it was. Wesley had thought as much. He really wasn't ready to hear anything that Angel had to say. He begrudged Angel the fact that he hadn't yet said anything to him at all, let alone apologised for his behaviour, but he also resented that fact that he hadn't been allowed the chance to prepare his own confrontation. He felt conflicted, but then again, nothing Angel did was going to sit well with him for a long time to come.

The looks on their faces suggested to Wesley that they hadn't expected him to open the door at all, let alone so suddenly and without any indication that he had heard them. With his arm still propping it open, he just stood there, still as stone and with a cold expression.

It took the others a couple of seconds to react. Fred attempted a smile.

"Hi," she said tentatively, giving a little wave. Gunn stood resolutely by her side. Angel hung back, analysing Wesley's appearance with a guarded expression. He clearly didn't want to give anything away and, although he didn't look in his direction, Wesley could feel the scrutiny. He didn't like it.

Fred felt the bad vibes fizzing around her as the guys watched each other, and she took it upon herself to break the stalemate.

"Wesley, we need your help," she started, deciding that it was a good a place to start as any. Apparently, she was wrong.

Wesley directed those cold eyes down at her, and she squirmed inside. To her relief, Angel stepped in to take over the one-sided conversation.

"Can we come in?" he asked smoothly.

Wesley remained silent.

Angel sighed and retreated back from the glare. That was his answer, then.

Told from the beginning to stay quiet and keep out of this, Gunn found himself getting increasingly annoyed. Taking in Wesley's unshaven face, he leaned round to look back into the apartment, spotting the whiskey bottle and empty glass on the coffee table.

"Look, we're not here for an argument," he said. "We want to perform a spell that will protect Connor and we can't do it on our own."

Wesley's hard look relented as he heard Gunn out, giving Fred fresh hope that they would be able to persuade him to help.

"This is for Connor, not for Angel," Gunn concluded, sensing the problem and interpreting the situation perfectly.

"Alright," Wesley conceded after a pause. Speaking for the first time, he had forgotten how raspy his voice had become with the benefits of about half a bottle of scotch. He reached round the frame to pull a jacket from the back of a chair before pulling the door shut behind him. "Let's go."

………………………

The ride to the Hyperion had been like Chinese water torture, the oppressive silence of the passengers threatening to drive Fred mad. She had longed for someone to just _say_ something, but being at a loss for anything to contribute herself, she'd had to endure it.

Even now, as they made their way towards the pile of information they had collected on the desk, the topic of conversation was strictly business. Fred felt awkward. The dispute was not hers, and yet she felt embarrassed and irrationally responsible by the way in which an apology didn't seem to be forthcoming. Gunn, protective and smouldering next to her, didn't seem to be improving the mood.

She understood that maybe now was not the ideal time for Angel and Wesley to be having a heartfelt talk, but she was worried that it may get out of hand if words were not had soon. After her cold reception at the apartment, she also felt as though she should have done more before now. She had been side-tracked.

She tugged on Gunn's sleeve, concerned that he seemed to be allowing himself to get involved in something that really was none of their business.

"Charles…" she whispered, "stop staring. Let's sit down."

They took a seat a little way from the others and watched from a distance as Wesley sifted through the papers. Angel was pulling up the internet source to show him on the computer. He looked as though he was trying to be useful.

Fred sighed on his behalf, well aware that the dark and disinterested expression on Wesley's face was only getting deeper. He was trying to feign indifference to Angel's presence, ignoring him like he might as well not have been there. It was plain to Fred that Angel's attempts at helpfulness were only earning him more bad feeling.

Gunn continued to radiate dangerous vibes beside her, eliciting another sigh. She knew he was just looking out for her. He probably didn't appreciate the way in which Wesley had seemed to lump them all together as one rather than direct his anger at Angel. Then again, she could see Wesley's point of view. It didn't seem like there was any way of solving this peacefully anytime soon.

"You know, it doesn't actually say anywhere here what exactly the result will be," Wesley reported neutrally, looking up to the others for confirmation.

Fred got up to look for herself, sure that she couldn't have missed something as important as that. Angel beat her to it, leaning over the book Wesley was reading to scan the contents. Wesley, personal space invaded, moved away in distaste.

"I figured this text would explain that," Angel mused, pointing to the passages of obscure languages surrounding part of the incantation. "What does it say?"

"They are instructions for the precise positioning of the subjects," Wes replied. "Connor will have to be present when it's cast. It might not be safe."

Feeling it his duty to express his concern, for Connor's sake at least, he wondered then if he should have bothered at all. Gunn's frown suggested that he didn't think Wesley was in any position to be telling them what to do, and the threatening disappointment of a promising plan gone wrong was making Angel touchy.

"As long as I don't do the spell, there should be no danger that I will cause Connor any harm," he said, challenging Wesley's judgement.

Wesley sighed. "That's not the point. You don't know what might happen. It could be something else entirely that poses a threat."

Angel took a moment to think the risks through and, as if he had known his presence was required, Lorne descended the staircase, a screaming Connor in his arms.

"Um, a little help?" he implored. "The nipper doesn't seem to appreciate the smooth tones of the Rat Pack. The kid has no taste."

Fred rose to his aid, taking the baby and attempting to hush him.

"Is he okay?" Angel asked anxiously. He hadn't imagined that such a short period of self-enforced abstinence from is son would be so difficult to endure. Already, he longed to go to him and comfort him. Ignoring those anguished cries made him feel unnecessarily cruel, almost as if Connor knew his father was neglecting him.

He had to settle for watching Fred do her best, still unwilling to give himself any opportunity to hurt him. It could be something as innocent as dropping him accidentally, but events had a tendency of turning far more sinister, something Angel knew far too well. He kept his distance.

"We're doing this," he said instead. "We're doing this now."

He grabbed the book from the desk and gave the spell one more read over. He couldn't take it any more. He wanted his son back and he wanted him safe. He wouldn't allow himself to watch the reactions of the others. They would no doubt try to dissuade him.

Wesley moved away from the group as soon as Angel reached his decision. He was not going to voice his opinions out loud since they had made it quite clear that his thoughts on the subject were not wanted. Unless he was going to back them up, he would be dismissed again. If they'd have asked, however, he would have told them straight. He wanted no part of what was about to take place. He had Connor's best interests at heart, just as they all had. He didn't want to be blamed if something went wrong.

That didn't mean he was going to leave just yet. He had a bad feeling about this, and he was going to be ready. He moved to the other side of the lobby and sat on the stairs, watching the proceedings silently from his viewpoint.

"Are you sure about this?" Lorne asked as Angel set about preparing a nest of bedding on the ground for Connor. "Magic plus us doesn't have a history of working out well, you know? And has anyone thought to ring Cordelia?"

Angel snapped his head up at that moment. "No. No one's calling her. She's on vacation."

As if that had ended the conversation, he stood back and examined his handiwork.

"Wesley, where did it say we have to be?"

Running a hand across his face before he answered, Wesley took a second to ensure his voice sounded neutral. He wasn't certain it worked that well.

"You need to be on opposite sides of the room without any obstacles in between. Someone needs to read the beginning of the passage, then you have to repeat the actual protective incantation three times. That's the key to keeping Connor safe from you."

"Then what?" Angel asked, not sure exactly what that meant. The last thing he needed was to be having second thoughts, but it occurred to him that the spell might work too well. He still wanted to be able to be with his son.

Refraining from scowling, Wesley kept his mouth shut, certain that he had already been over the fact that he didn't know. Angel got the idea. Lorne and Fred helped him push furniture out of the way and stood to the side.

"Okay," Angel said. "So who's gonna do the honours?"

Volunteers were thin on the ground. Gunn looked around at the others, surprised to see the nervousness they showed. Lorne remained uncharacteristically quiet and still, perhaps turning a deeper shade of green. Fred shifted on her feet and looked at the floor, Connor still screaming and throwing his arms around. Even Wesley looked pensive.

"I'll do it," he announced, moving to take Connor from Fred.

Placing him gently on the floor and wrapping him securely in the blankets, he crossed the lobby to take the book from Angel's hands. The man's face was like stone.

"Show me," he said, scanning the archaic words. He had never done anything like this before. He just hoped it worked.

"Read the first five lines," Wesley instructed from his perch. "Pronounce each word separately and phonetically. Ignore the 'zr' sequences. They're silent."

He probably hadn't meant to sound patronising, but Gunn heated somewhat. If the guy knew so much about it, why didn't he read the damn thing himself? Just lately, it seemed that everything Wesley did or said rubbed him up the wrong way. He took a calming breath and looked up.

"Okay if I stand here?" Wesley nodded. Gunn turned to Angel. "You ready?" Again, he got a nod as an answer.

"Right then. Here goes nothing." He dutifully read the passage as he had been told, managing to sound fairly confident with the wording. With a cautious look around, he handed the book to Angel once he had finished. So far so good.

Connor's wailing slowed as Angel began his own recitation of what Gunn guessed was a Latin pledge for protection from himself. The speech took a while to complete, with Angel pausing slightly before he began the second reading. Nothing seemed to be happening. Gunn kept his eyes on Angel, ready for any sign of a result. Fred and Lorne fearfully scanned the ceiling as though they expected something to fall from the sky.

The third and final repetition began, and everyone collectively held their breath. Angel reached the end and slammed the book closed with finality. He looked up. Nothing seemed to have changed. He looked at Gunn and they waited. He seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Wesley," he half whispered, "what's going on?"

He didn't get an answer. They looked over to find the steps empty. Connor resumed his screaming with double the effort.

"Where did he go?" Fred whispered, not daring to move.

Angel looked ready to throw the book to the floor in frustration at the lack of result, and Gunn began cursing Wesley's name for his ditch and run.

"Uh, guys?" Lorne cut in, focusing on a small spark that had appeared in the middle of the lobby, directly between Connor and Angel.

Everyone turned to watch as it expanded and shielded their eyes against it as it suddenly flashed brightly. Fred turned her head away and rubbed at her dazzled eyes until the light died down. She heard two loud thuds as something heavy feel to the floor, followed by pained grunts. She whirled round to see two sprawled shapes silhouetted against the fading flash.

"Oh my God," she mouthed as Wesley sat up and shook his head to clear it.

She would have asked him what had happened, but she was more anxious to know about the stranger next to him who was flinging tangled dark hair out of her eyes. The woman met Wesley's eyes and mirrored his shocked expression, then looked around her and noticed her audience.

"Fuck _me_," Faith exclaimed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Reunion

Faith struggled to bring her spinning vision back to normal. Having managed to clear her face of hair so that she could at least see the group around her and having muttered what she was sure was an expletive, she now found herself unable to move. She promptly collapsed backwards onto the cold floor and stared stupidly up at the ceiling, all feeling in her body gone.

This must be a dream, her inner monologue told her, although she knew it to be a lie. Wesley never looked like _that_ in her dreams. And she was pretty sure the black guy and the stick currently leaning over her had never appeared in them before. Somewhere in the distance, some little brat was screaming it's head off.

The view in front of her finally settled and she blinked heavily, her mind adjusting to the sudden change of location. Not moments ago she had been where her body told her she should still be. Standing in her usual spot in the yard by the fence. Peering out instead of watching the posturing inmates in their regular routine. She had been minding her own business. Better to avoid trouble in a place where fights were all too common and someone could get hurt. She'd learnt that lesson many times. They all figured she was on drugs or something and left her the hell alone. That suited her just fine.

But there were always the new chicks, out to make a name for themselves. They didn't believe her, or anyone else for that matter, when they were told that they couldn't take her on their best day. Claire never did grow that tooth back.

She could live with it that way. She'd learnt to cope with the lifestyle. The guards didn't bother her. She was the quiet one. She could get away with the occasional scuffle since she showed such detachment, the threat of physical violence barely registering with her anymore. She only ever defended herself, and even then only when it was absolutely necessary. Taking punishment sometimes had a kind of cleansing quality to it. But she was no one's punching bag. She didn't have the time or the inclination to tango with a bunch of low life thieves. Angel had it right. It took a lot of thought, and damn, did she have stuff to think about.

"What the fuck is going on?" she eventually managed to slur out, already suspecting that Angel had something to do with whatever it was that was happening to her. She was doing just fine in jail, thank you very much; she was happy there. Well, maybe happy wasn't exactly the word, or even content. Adequate? Sufficient?

Angel finally made an appearance, adding to the little circle of heads that was framing her view. He was holding a wriggling bundle to his body like his unlife depended on it, seemingly oblivious to the god awful noise it was making. He stared down at her like she had the word 'freak' tattooed across her forehead. She managed a frown.

"Faith, is that you?" he asked her, and she wanted to hit him.

"Maybe you didn't hear me right the first time. I'll try again. What the FUCK just happened!"

"Hey, calm down, it's okay," the stick assured her, giving her a gentle smile and a pat on the shoulder. She then turned to Angel and whispered in his ear. "Who is she?"

"Hey yourself," Faith growled. "Don't be talking about me like I'm not here. I can hear you, you know."

The stick blushed apologetically and backed off, much to Faith's pleasure.

Faith had never appreciated being coddled, and if she didn't get a straight answer soon, she was going to go off on one. Her muscles may have frozen, but her slayer senses were on edge. Add to that the tension in the room and the impending confrontation that she was really not ready for…

There was only one way she knew to alleviate stress, and all the counselling in the world could only teach her to cover her nervousness for so long. She fell into old habits, building a little wall around herself and snapping at hands until people quit poking her.

Some vestige of strength seeped back to her limbs and she propped herself up with her arms, scowling at the helpful hands that reached down to aid her. She looked around once more to be certain of exactly who she was dealing with to find that the company hadn't changed.

Next to her, Wesley attempted to sit up also, clearly suffering the same effects as her. Slayer healing was obviously allowing her a faster recovery.

"This makes no sense," the black guy announced, breaking the awed mood. "Wasn't the spell supposed to be protective?"

"No," Angel breathed rather dazedly. "It makes perfect sense."

The black guy waited for an explanation that didn't come and began to look even more agitated. Faith remained silent, trying to fit the pieces together for herself.

"Are you okay, Wesley?" the stick asked, moving to his side to help him up. If Faith interpreted his expression correctly, he endured her attention rather than welcomed it until he was able to remain upright. He cast an uneasy look at the black guy but refused to answer the unspoken questions in his eyes. The stick caught on.

"Charles, he didn't do this, okay?"

'Charles' huffed and turned away, unconvinced. He stalked off across the room and began to pace, keeping his opinions to himself. Angel continued to stare as he bounced the kid in his arms, unaware of the exchange and continuing as if he hadn't stopped at all.

"Who better to protect a child from a vampire than a slayer and her watcher?" he asked rhetorically.

"I am _not_ her watcher," Wesley replied insistently, and Faith couldn't help but wince slightly at the coldness of his tone. Speaking for the first time, she couldn't be sure if the hostility was in fact directed at her or Angel, but she was fairly certain that it was at least a little bit of both. He didn't argue with the logic, however, and Faith focused instead on deciphering the meaning of Angel's words.

"Wait a second," the stick interrupted. "What are you talking about? You guys know her?"

Faith felt her cheeks burn at the prospect of having any of the most unsavoury aspects of her life story revealed to a complete stranger, and an annoying one at that. Before she could open her mouth to protest, Angel began an automatic summary of slayer lore, thankfully omitting some of the more personal details regarding his dealings with them. Faith wondered if the strangers knew about Buffy. He concluded with an explanation as to why two slayers currently existed, and left it at that. The stick did not look entirely enlightened.

She shrugged and accepted the story, offering her hand out to her new acquaintance. "Hi Faith, I'm Fred. Nice to meet you."

Faith regarded the appendage cynically and ignored the gesture. "Yeah, whatever. Why can't I move my legs?"

She followed Angel's lead and looked to Wesley for a theory, surprised to find him not his usual talkative self. Faith would have expected a long winded lecture about stuff she couldn't understand. There was a time when you couldn't shut the man up once you got him started on a subject, but not now. He just glowered back at them both, flicking his eyes to his own legs to indicate his similar situation. She didn't show it, but Faith actually started to feel worried. Things were not right around here.

The kid began to tire of it's wailing and fell into hiccupping sobs. That finally got Angel's attention and he turned his face towards it, shushing and stroking it's head.

"Who's the kid?" Faith inquired, jerking her chin in Angel's direction. She had never been particularly fond of children, and she eyed it warily.

"This is Connor," Angel practically beamed, smiling with pride. He made faces at the child and told him what a good boy he was in a baby voice. Faith had a bad feeling about this.

"That's Angel's son," Charles filled in for him as Angel lost interest in the conversation. Faith had to take a second to breathe.

"You're shittin' me."

Angel looked up at that point. "Darla, not Buffy," he supplied, as if that made it all alright.

"You say that like it's a better option," she told him, still digesting the facts. "How… I mean, it's impossible, right?"

"That's what we thought," Angel said, smiling at his miracle child with that dreamy quality again.

The whole thing sounded decidedly too weird for Faith, so she didn't ask for the specifics. She inwardly thanked her luck when her legs began to respond, feeling relief with the realisation that she could soon make her escape. She flexed them to test her range of movement and stretched the muscles, ready to attempt getting up. Her balance apparently hadn't caught up quite so fast and she fell flat on her ass as soon as she moved. It did not improve her mood.

She tried again with more determination and achieved a wobbly stance. Fred looked eager to support her to prevent her from falling, but wisely kept her distance. Faith took some cautious steps and leant against the counter for a moment. Confident that she could make it further, she straightened and addressed the group.

"Right. Well, the little get together was great an' all, but I think I'll be getting back now before I'm missed. We should do it again some time, though."

Angel moved towards her before she could start for the doors. "Whoa, wait a minute. Where are you going? You can't leave."

"And why not? I got here, didn't I? I can go back."

Angel reached for her arm to hold her in place, the kid still tucked against his body. "The spell brought you here for a reason. You have to stay." He paused and lowered his voice. "I need you here."

Angel's hand clutched at her a little more desperately and he glanced down at his son. He was pleading with her, she realised. Faith felt her anger building.

"I don't care what you have planned. It doesn't have anything to do with me. You can't keep me here."

"You're right," Angel agreed, "but you can't go back. How will you explain it to them?"

Faith looked around at the others for a way out but found no inspiration for an answer. They were waiting for her response. She felt trapped and she didn't like it. Angel had ruined everything. Before she could stop herself, she had put as much strength as she could muster behind her fist and smacked him in the shoulder, breathing heavily and glaring as he staggered backwards from her.

"What have you done!" she hissed, struggling to contain her panic. "I didn't ask for this, I've spent months in there and I was doing just fine. All the time I could have got out whenever I wanted, but I didn't. Now they'll be looking for me! What am I supposed to do?"

"There's no reason to think that they'll come looking here if they think you've escaped," Angel told her calmly, approaching her once again. "You don't need that place to hold you, Faith. You can find control on your own, I know it. You're wasted in there. You could be doing so much more good."

"Don't try to pretend that this isn't all about you, Angel," Faith warned him, lulled by his sentiments nonetheless. Despite herself, she'd known for a long time that her duty could not be avoided. She sometimes resented her calling, she'd never asked for any of it, and she'd fully renounced the Council. But her powers had remained whilst she was out of service. She couldn't deny that there were forces at work here that were greater than herself. It didn't mean she had to like it.

"Please, Faith," Angel implored again. "Say you'll stay."

She felt confused, and try as she might, she couldn't wipe the devastated look off her face. Her mind still felt fuzzy round the edges and she needed some space to think. Her world had been tipped upside down by Angel's interference and her initial indignation was clouding her judgement.

"Get out of my way," she whispered rather sulkily as she pushed Angel aside. She made it across the lobby without appearing too ungraceful and no one tried to stop her. The hotel door swung shut behind her as she slipped out into the street.

……………………

"Okay, somebody want to tell me exactly what just happened there? 'Cause I have no idea what's going on."

Gunn watched the raven haired woman storm from the hotel with all the purpose of an angry teenager with no clue what to do next. He was pretty sure the girl didn't know where she was or where she was going, but the expectant pause that followed revealed that no one was keen to go after her.

Angel sighed dramatically and wandered over to the cot, setting the fussing Connor down. He leaned back against the wall and watched his son blankly as he thought about how best to answer the question.

"Where exactly has she been?" Fred asked. "Why would she want to go back to a place she needed help to escape from?"

"Faith has been in jail, Fred," Angel supplied, stroking his chin with his thumb in a reflective gesture.

"Oh," was all she could think of to say to that. She went back to staring at the lobby doors with an increasingly puzzled expression.

"And you're happy with that?" Gunn interjected, "You actually want a convicted criminal here, at this hotel, to protect your son? What exactly did she do anyway?"

Angel looked up ad Gunn approached him, hearing the disapproval in his voice. He wouldn't lie to the man, he deserved more than that. It was just that he knew the reaction he was going to get. He looked at Wesley briefly before replying and got an accusatory frown. He looked away. Wes clearly wanted him to tell the awful truth, if only to reveal the disastrous stupidity of his plan.

"She killed a man…"

Fred and Gunn gasped simultaneously.

"…and she tortured Wesley."

Fred looked at Wesley with horror in her eyes, but he refused to meet her stare. Gunn shook his head incredulously and actually smiled. It was clear to Angel, however, that it was not meant to be humorous.

"Actually, you know what?" he said jauntily, "She sounds like the perfect candidate. Hell, we should let her baby-sit the entire neighbourhood's kids."

The smile dropped from his face as he looked Angel in the eye, too angry to be reasoned with. But Angel would try anyway.

"People can change," Angel told him, daring him to contradict. "I trust her and that's all that matters. If she was brought here to guard Connor, she must be able to do it."

He chose at that point not to mention Wesley, though he could sense the man was bristling. He didn't need to look his way to know that he was fighting to keep himself from saying something he'd regret. Angel had to admit he was wary and unsure at the moment when it came talking to the guy. He seemed to be purposefully avoiding conversation, as though he was in danger of being finally pushed over the edge. God knows an angry tirade from him was long overdue. So Angel was treading lightly, on alert against the slightest provocation that might set him off.

"Well, she's gone," Fred sighed, stating the obvious. "I don't mean to sound pessimistic or anything, but I don't think she was too taken by the idea. If that were me, I'd be outta here too like a…like a rabbit out of a hole. And I wouldn't come back."

Angel and Gunn stared.

"Well I wouldn't! But then that's just me, I mean, she's probably way different to me, so, nothing to worry about, right? She'll come right back here to watch over the kid that… she's never heard of, whose father she… just assaulted, to a hotel she doesn't know the location of, to stand side by side with the man she hated enough to…"

Fred wound down to mumbling under her breath and began a guilty perusal of her shoes. She shrugged to herself as if coming to a conclusion and looked up at Angel with an anguished frown.

"I guess somebody'd better talk to her then, huh?"

"Thanks Fred, I get it," Angel groaned.

"Hey man, it needed sayin'," Gunn said.

Angel paced back over to the cot to run his hand lightly over Connor's chest, hoping that Gunn would remember exactly why he was doing all of this. "I'll go look for her as soon as the sun goes down."

"No," Wesley said from where he had pulled himself up onto the couch by the sheer strength of his will not much earlier. He noticed the others look at him suddenly then, as though they had forgotten that he was in the room at all. Or maybe they were just surprised to hear him contribute to the debate after his previous reluctance to communicate. He almost wanted to smile. Almost.

"I'll do it," he said.


	4. Chapter 4: The Search

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, please? I'll be your friend.

Feedback: Gets framed and treasured forever. Thanks go to Euley, bluecarru, Cayt, Skydiver and Ruth Quist for their friendly words. Any suggestions for improvement are gratefully received and all comments are warmly welcomed.

Author's note: Just a short one for now folks with much bitterness ahead. Knots must be worked out before the rest can be uploaded, but feel free to kick start me back into action.

Faith wrapped her arms more tightly around her body, trying to squeeze a little more warmth into her shivering frame. Aside from the fact that she stuck out like a sore thumb on the streets of Los Angeles in her prison jumpsuit, the thin material wasn't doing much to shield her from the damp night air.

She'd walked for God knows how long, and she hadn't paid much attention to where she was going. She might even have said that she'd gotten herself lost, if she'd had any idea where she was to begin with. Wandering around had seemed like as good an idea as any, at least while she tried to figure out what she was going to do next. Asking the nearest bum for directions to the county penitentiary was, at this point, the worst possible option. She was drawing enough stares as it was.

Not that she cared much about that. She didn't need unwanted attention, and certainly not any interference from either well-meaning do-gooders or the more unsavoury inhabitants of the streets. At this time of night, muggers and rapists were the least of her worries, but she knew how to handle herself, so she paid the ever present threat little mind. She was busy thinking.

As soon as the sun had begun to go down, she had started preparing herself for her rescue. Angel was no doubt desperate to come after her, and she was surprised that it had already taken him this long. The more the cold seeped in, the more attractive his arrival seemed, and she found herself becoming impatient. He had proved his point.

Her mind switched back again to just what the hell she thought she was doing. She didn't know exactly what she had hoped to achieve by running out, or even why she felt she'd had to. She was angry, that much was obvious, and she'd acted on instinct. Angel had no right to bring her here, or tell her what she had to do. Add to that the fact that she had been scared shitless by the whole experience, not to mention unprepared for the awkward reunion, and a run for cover suddenly seemed like the perfect reaction. But since when did she ever retreat and scuttle away like a coward?

She had always known that she'd have to offer apologies some day and have them spat right back in her face. The counsellor had said that an acceptance wasn't the point, but that the act itself would help her come to terms with herself. It didn't stop her secretly hoping for forgiveness, of course, and fearing that it might never come often prevented her from making any headway with the problem at all. Sure, they had a postal system in jail, it's just that she'd only ever gotten as far as the corridor junction before beating it back to her dark little hovel of self pity. She'd gotten real good at it.

The more she thought about it, the less she wanted Angel's help. This was something she had to work at on her own. She didn't turn herself in to sample the culinary delights of the inmate's kitchen. She had to get out of here, but she had nowhere to go. She didn't even know where here was exactly, and she was cold. Stupid thoughts had brought her back full circle, she realised, but at least she knew why she had left. Confused was the only word her mind could come up with to explain its behaviour. She snorted derisively at herself, a cruel little smile mocking her own actions. Way to act like a cornered animal, Faith. Respect.

The smile soon melted miserably away and she tucked her chin further into her collar. Keeping her head down didn't exactly give the confident don't-fuck-with-me impression she usually went for when trying to be ignored by the world at large, but at least it did its job. She didn't want anything to do with anyone, and the occasional rare pedestrian that still walked the street kept the hell out of her way. They probably figured she was bad news.

An old woman with a trolley shambled past her, giving her a wide berth. The woman went out of her way to move around, staring suspiciously as she went, and managed to quicken her step. Faith glanced quickly at her from under her ragged bangs and noted the woman's curled lip, her ego stinging pitifully before she remembered not to give a shit. She must be looking haunted if even the bag ladies were avoiding her like she was contagious.

After another hour of fruitless dwelling, it became clear that Angel was not coming. She became angry at the thought despite herself, her conflicting emotions making her feel like a hypocrite. What the fuck did she expect? She'd made it clear to him that she didn't want his help, told him to his face how pissed off she was with him, and now expected him to come and fetch her? She'd hit him for Christ's sake.

No, she was on her own now, and fuck them all, that's what she wanted. Might as well make good on an unusual opportunity. If going back to jail wasn't an option, then she'd have to get along fine without it. In fact, what was wrong with her? She was free! This was what she'd dreamed of and fantasised about, if sadly and kinda guiltily at the time, and now she had the perfect excuse to stay out.

Fate had a twisted sense of humour. After all she'd done, she finally makes the effort to do something about it, to repent her sins and punish herself quietly, and she's not even left to do that in peace. Something comes along and dumps her in this shit, messes up her already screwed up life, 'cause clearly there ain't enough things going wrong as it is. Maybe this is what she deserves after all.

Well, you know what? Faith is no one's whipping boy. She can't keep up with the game anymore, and she's fed up of trying. The good girl mantle never sat comfortably on her shoulders anyway. She raises an imaginary middle finger to the powers that be and, with one last look at the sky, sheds this mood forever. It's time to get even with it all. Goodbye pseudo-Faith, welcome back the real McCoy.

And suddenly, it feels like a weight is lifted from her as all the pretence and falseness falls from her. If she's going to set things right, she'll do it her own way. The Slayer powers never faded, and there has to be a reason. Destroying herself this way is not the answer. She was chosen, and she likes to think it has a small amount to do with who she is. Transforming herself into someone else is not going to work; sweet, contrite, placid little girl-next-door ain't never gonna cut the demon mustard.

She mustn't let them tame her. It's just what the vamps need.

………………………

It doesn't take long for her to find what she's looking for. The lost and scared look obviously came off convincingly, 'cause it took all of five minutes for some scumbag to start following her down an alley.

She could feel her blood rushing in a way it hadn't done for months. It felt good. Getting angry again had managed to snap her out of her funk, and she thanked her quick temper for the favour. She hadn't been seeing things as clearly as she was now. Having a goal in mind to concentrate on sure made things easier.

She took a moment to peer shyly over her shoulder, easily picking out the shadowy form of a crook. He made no effort to conceal himself, sticking to the shadows only to further agitate his prey. The cocky saunter suggested an air of confidence that would play right into Faith's hands. She was going to enjoy this.

She turned her head back abruptly and quickened her pace, earning her a quiet snicker from her pursuer. The end of the alley loomed from the dark, boxes, trash and the general scattered crap the only witnesses to the chase. It was perfect.

Stopping at the chain link fence she flexed her hands, waiting for the first move. The awful stench of rotting garbage assaulted her senses and the cold, dirty puddle water began to soak up her ankles. She wanted to get this over with quickly. The mugger wasn't playing ball.

"C'mere darlin'," he drawled, standing some distance away. "I ain't gonna bite."

Faith rolled her eyes in annoyance but didn't turn around. He wasn't close enough yet, and she didn't fancy a sprint after him if he decided to bolt too soon. She refrained from tapping her foot in impatience.

"Wassa matter?" he asked when she remained silent. "Don't feel like talkin'? Spoils all the fun. What's a girl like you doing out here all alone, anyways? Didn't ya know there are dangerous criminals out here at night?"

"Yeah, I knew," she replied, tensing as he approached. "I'm the worst."

She whipped round just as he reached her, snapping her fist towards his outstretched arm. Screaming when it connected, the mugger spun and went down, cradling his hand to his chest. Faith frowned, appalled. That was too easy, and she was disappointed.

"That was it?" she laughed incredulously. "What the hell kind of rapist are you?"

"You broke my arm you fucking bitch!" he squealed. He continued to squirm and grimace in the filth, groaning occasionally. Faith couldn't even bring herself to give it another try.

"What a waste of time," she mumbled to herself as she leant her back against the alley wall. "You know, all I wanted was a decent fight. Is that so much to ask? Can't a girl get a break around here?"

The guy didn't answer and simply watched her fearfully from his place on the floor. Faith sighed and shook her head at him, tsking like she was reproaching a naughty dog. She threw her hands in the air and pushed herself off of the wall.

"Well, guess I'll just have to find something a bit more challenging. But first things first."

Her face fell from jovial to intentional as she approached her victim until she stood leaning over his head. He shrank back from her and tried to crawl away, only to be trapped by the wall.

"You're crazy, lady," he told her as she studied him for a moment. Something inside of Faith revelled at the freaky look he was giving her.

"I need your money and your clothes," she ordered. "Strip."

The guy's eyes widened with shock and disbelief. She couldn't help but smile to herself.

"What!" he cried, "No way!"

His protests were cut off abruptly as Faith's heel slammed down across his throat, her heavy work boots crushing the air from him. He tried to cough, but couldn't choke a single breath out. As he flushed red, Faith leant a little further over, just to accentuate her point. Her foot squeezed a little harder.

"I _said_… strip."

…………………….

If he was completely honest with himself, Wesley hadn't really had any intention of finding Faith at all. Or at least, he hadn't expected to find her. He was more concerned about getting away from that place as quickly as possible, and it wasn't important where he ended up. If Gunn and Fred believed him, they would assume he didn't need their help and would have no reason to object. Angel, who probably knew better, wouldn't be able to follow him until the sun went down, and by then, he'd already have a head start.

The simple fact was that Faith could have gone anywhere. It didn't take any special insight into her character to realise that Wesley had nowhere to start and nothing to go on, and the chances of stumbling across her in a city the size of LA were incredibly slim. And that suited him just fine. It was no great loss. Then again, he couldn't seem to stop his body from at least going through the motions.

He could tell himself he was just pretending to keep the others off his back, but that seemed absurd. It was a weak excuse and his conscience knew it. It laughed at him heartily and his inner alcoholic growled. He cursed his noble set of morals.

He couldn't be sure, but he had his doubts that the lingering unsteadiness hampering his steps was entirely down to the whiskey. He didn't like to dwell too intently on where he might have gone for those few seconds between hearing Angel recite his spell and then finding himself in the middle of the floor, the entire group around him. Wherever it was, it didn't agree with his sense of balance, and he certainly didn't agree with the continual ache he'd had in his head since. The buzzing didn't seem to want to go away either.

Rubbing painfully at his eyes with trembling fingertips eased the insistent throbbing somewhat, and he promised himself a good few hours sleep when he eventually made it back to his bed. A bag woman with a stench that seemed to precede her for several metres gave him a disgusted sneer as she ambled past him, the mad glint in her eye a clear sign to passers-by that it was nothing personal; she was offended by everyone. Wesley barely managed a nonchalant glance in her direction before dismissing her and returning his thoughts to his route.

There was nothing for it but to head towards the apartment and hope for the best. At least that way he had something to look forward to at the end of his pointless little romp into the backstreets of bumville. He hoped to God he had enough change in his back pocket to take the next bus that crossed his path.

It was no great surprise to him, then, when a distant snarl alerted him to the presence of a vampire. Only the newest and most pathetic demons preyed on the homeless and defenceless, the more discerning amongst them making it a point of pride to avoid such easy meals. That, and the smell and general poor quality of the catch usually made for an assault on the senses that just wasn't worthwhile. That fact alone would have put Wesley at ease, if not for the steady improvement of his skills and the general habituation that came with it. Few things overtly worried him anymore, and as it was, he was hardly in the frame of mind for anxiety. Most of that had already been used up just lately.

So it was with a flat sense of purpose that he approached the source of the noise, an almost disinterested air to his calm movements. The fledgling vampire was too busy greedily feeding to have noticed his observer anyway and, despite the rather exposed location he had chosen in which to make his kill, seemed to have paid little attention to the possibility of an interruption. Either he was extremely confident in his new found status, or his hurried movements really did indicate desperation.

Wesley found he felt little sympathy.


	5. Chapter 5: The Battle of Wills

Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue me.

Author's note: This one's for Resurging Crisis. You wanted more, so here you go. :)

………………………………….

Faith surveyed her city. It slept uneasily in the glare of unnatural light, the consistent traffic noise and unclean tang in the air smothering the peace. A sharp blast of fitful wind whipped her hair up into streamers, and she breathed deep. This was hers now, and the unearthly glow of Los Angeles embraced her.

She zipped her newly acquired jacket up to her breasts and smoothed out the pockets, discarding the cigarettes and call cards she found there. The pocket knife she kept. The greasy leather mostly covered the ill-fitting T-shirt and at least hid the stains, but it was too long in the arm. At least it was functional. It also kept the night off her skin. The clothes would have to do until she found something better, and the fifty-two dollars stashed in the back of her pants would come in very handy. She'd missed her last meal.

The last remnants of her disorientation soaked away at last with refreshing crispness. She finally felt truly steady on her feet, perhaps for the first time since she'd found herself in the middle of that damn building. She should really have taken the time to memorise its exact location, or even what it looked like. She doubted she'd recognise it easily again. Not that it mattered. Now that she'd decided to stay, she was sure she'd be seeing it regularly soon enough. It wouldn't take long for Angel to find her. Even if he wasn't looking, they were certain to cross paths, and she'd have to face the inevitable music. Until then, she was going to get a little independence back.

Distant windows blinked mournfully at her through the gloom as she considered them, finding obscure shapes in their patterns. Her head cleared completely as she'd taught herself, and she was delighted to find that her finely tuned Slayer senses were still there at her demand. They'd been so overwhelmed by the stench of humanity and cages for so long that she'd almost forgotten they were still waiting, lying dormant before her command. She called them up again now and revelled in the connection.

She was again able to pick out individual scents and sounds from the confusion on her rooftop and her mind automatically began sifting them. An incomprehensible shout here, the faint scent of some far off night creature there. All of them registered and were then dismissed as her tactical brain analysed and prioritised them for her. She paid them little attention. Instead, she focused back down into the alley below her to the fight that had drawn her.

As far as she could tell, the vampire had been there some time and had already fed on its victim. The heavily bearded man lay slumped against the wall where he had fallen, hopelessly bleeding what little blood he had left from the messy gashes in his neck. The vampire had not been very clean in its haste. There was no sign of a struggle on his part, and his meagre belongings lay scattered at his feet. He'd been walking the streets for a while.

The man was already dead, there was no doubt about that. From the looks of him, he'd been pretty much lifeless to begin with. Despair rose up from these streets for miles around, and Faith almost felt that if she chose to stay here too long, it might begin to permeate even her. It would be easy for someone with more to lose than her to succumb to its song.

The vampire in question was a scraggly individual with a pathetic look about him. He fought savagely, however, perhaps strengthened by his recent meal, but in that uncoordinated way common of fledglings. He would have posed little threat to Faith.

Despite this, she had hung back. Her initial reaction had been to jump right in, dispatch the vampire and launch into a tirade about the stupidity of disturbing feeding demons, especially when you were an unknowing member of the public. As she'd watched, however, she'd discovered to her surprise that this was not the case. The assailant was Wesley.

Again, instinct told her to go down there and stop him from getting himself killed, maybe give the speech about how he should know better and what the hell was he doing out here anyway? And yet still, something stopped her. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more obvious the cause of the vampire's savagery became. It was terrified.

This wasn't a case of an attack on an unwitting intruder. Wesley was attacking _it_. Twice she saw it try to run, try to dart past Wesley and towards the hope of escape. Twice he blocked its path. It was getting frantic. He hit it again and it snarled, whirling round to get some distance between itself and its foe. It looked desperately for an escape route, eyeing the wall for the chance to jump, but instead finding Faith's silhouetted form looking down against the sky. She smiled at it.

Wesley caught its neck and flung it against the bricks, pounding it mercilessly as it scrabbled for purchase. It threw out a flailing fist that went wide and ducked out of his reach, aiming for the debris piled in a dumpster to its side. Wesley had time to see it pull a piece of metal piping from the pile and brandish it like a weapon before it came at him, swinging wildly. It didn't take much grace to dodge the clumsy attempts.

It went on the defensive and retreated back again, fending Wesley off as it threw anything it could get a grip on in his direction. A couple of lucky hits ricocheted off his arms as he advanced, but Wesley did not slow. He continued to press forward, forcing the vampire into a tighter space. He avoided one more swipe before he leapt forward and smacked his fist into its face.

It dropped the pipe and staggered back holding its nose, its ugly face scrunched up in pain. Wesley waited for retaliation but instead got only whimpering. The creature almost seemed to shrink, defeated and pitiful. A gurgled sound emanated from behind its clasped hands and it whined. It was pleading for him to stop. Wesley sighed. The vampire's eyes watched him approach fearfully, but with its back pressed tightly against the alley wall, it had nowhere else to go. With an almost disappointed motion, Wesley swiftly staked it.

Slow clapping made him whirl, and he brought up his stake for protection. Faith smiled at his startled expression but approached carefully, jamming her hands firmly in her jacket pockets.

"Bravo", she laughed, "That was some show. Kinda missed the point though."

She indicated the body with a jerk of her chin, but Wesley's eyes stayed locked to hers. She stopped a little distance from him and he lowered the stake, if somewhat reluctantly.

"Something I can help you with, Faith?" Cool again. Cold even. It hits her like ice in her face, but she feigns normality.

"Was gonna ask you the same thing, actually. But looks like you don't need any. Ruins my fun."

He looks almost shame-faced then, turning from her slightly as he stows the stake back under his jacket. Now he won't meet her gaze. She pushes.

"In fact, you kinda beat up on that poor kid. Time was you couldn't hit an elephant with shit, now you're missing a kill on purpose? What's with that?"

His jaw clenched and he looked at her again, a challenge clear in his eyes.

"He's dead now, isn't he?"

"Yeah, whatever. You know exactly what I mean. One day soon, we're gonna be havin' a talk."

This got a reaction. An incredibly unflattering smirk distorted his face and she braced herself for the venom. It was long overdue.

"What makes you think we'll be having any such discussions in the near future? I have nothing to say to you."

He wanted to add that he didn't even know why he'd come out here in the first place, but she didn't need any more ammunition. Now that it came to it, he found that he wanted to be as far away from her as possible, and then perhaps a bit further. He couldn't quite remember why he had felt the need to go looking for her so strongly before, but it was certainly gone now. His headache simply pounded demandingly in the place of any explanation.

Faith seemed unfazed by his reply and remained in his way, making it perfectly clear that she was not going to allow him to get past before she'd said her piece. He swallowed nervously.

Faith watched as Wesley's gaze flicked to either side of her, gauging the distance to the street. Her face flushed warm with the realisation that this conversation was not going at all the way she had planned. She took a step back and pulled her arms out into the open, all the time wary of his body language. He was shifting is weight uncertainly, although she doubted he was conscious of the fact.

"Look, I know you probably didn't plan on me being here," she said, and he snorted. "But I need to know. Angel didn't just invite me over for tea and cakes. He practically _abducted_ me."

Wesley said nothing. He continued to watch her carefully, and she got the distinct impression that he was simply trying to stall for time. The thought made her stomach roll uncomfortably.

The bitch that lived inside her head snickered at her and told her she should have expected this. She silently thanked it for its contribution and promptly slapped it upside the head. The heel of her imaginary shoe then ground it firmly into the floor. She bit her lip and tried again.

"I'm guessing nobody counted on me landing when I did. Or with you, I'm thinkin'. And you're shit scared about somethin'." She indicated him vaguely and immediately regretted it, recognising his misinterpretation in the way his face hardened. She quickly backtracked.

"As for Angel, he pretty much jumped me as soon as I could stand. Figured if he wanted me bad enough, he'd have come and got me. Looks now like he's just tryin' to make the best of accidental little me."

Wesley gave her an irritated look and moved to go around her. She sidestepped to stop him and he froze again.

"Wanna know what else? I think you're in the same position as me. You wanna be outta here as much as I do, but you know you can't. You feel it too. We were put together back there for a reason."

She stared him down steadfastly and waited as he became visibly more agitated. He threw his hands in the air. "I don't know what to tell you, Faith. I know as much about this as you do."

"Bullshit. Don't tell me you have nothing to do with this. No one gets screwed over like you have without having Angel to thank. I could see it in the way you looked at him." Faith was sure that if he'd had less control over himself then, he'd have bared his teeth at her at that point. She was glad. He wasn't supposed to like what she was saying.

"Throw me a fucking bone here," she demanded, and then forced her voice down. Someone had once told her that the harder you tried to pry a clam open, the more effort it will put against you and the tighter it will hold. Give it chance to settle and it opens of its own accord. It was a stupid fucking metaphor but it was worth a try.

She tried to match his earlier neutral tone with to convey her intentions more clearly. She wasn't looking for a fight, only answers, and she pleaded her inquiry to him. "All I know is what I saw. Something's happened, and now I'm free. I'm _here_."

Something in the way she said it must have communicated to him, and his face softened just a little. He thought a moment longer and took a deep breath, coming to a decision.

"And you want to know why?"

She nodded.

She watched several possible explanations play across his face as he searched for the words, then, almost as if he'd remembered something he'd forgotten, his eyes went dead again. She wanted to shake him.

"I really think you ought to ask Angel that," he rolled off monotonously.

She gritted her teeth and threw her head to one side in frustration, willing herself to stay calm. Intimidation was not going to get her what she wanted this time, but she was not renowned for her patience. Her words came out with a little more force than she'd intended.

"Don't give me that crap, Wes, you know I can't go back there. Not until I know what's going on. You're the only one I know well enough to give me the truth. Angel's far too into his sugar-coating."

He hesitated a moment, but she wouldn't back down. "Please," she said, "Just tell me."

His will gave one more brief battle against hers before it sputtered out and deflated. It noticeably gave way and he looked at the floor, all his attention on something she couldn't see.

"He's going to kill Connor," he half-whispered.

"What, who-"

"His son," he clarified quickly, as if there had been any doubt, and now the fight was gone from his eyes and desperation looked back out at her. He put a hand to his face and rubbed, walking over to the wall to lean against it. He suddenly looked very tired, and Faith wondered what exactly he thought he was doing out here.

Then, as if in answer to her unspoken question, "It's been prophesised and there's nothing I can do about it. All my sources confirm that it's just a matter of time. Angel performed a protection spell in a last ditch attempt and…" He waved his hand vaguely in her direction and fell silent. He closed his eyes in defeat.

"So, what, you don't trust him?"

Wesley looked up at her then, a guarded expression on his face. "Not entirely, no."

She didn't ask for an elaboration. She wasn't sure she wanted one. She didn't know Wesley well enough to trust his judgement, but if she knew Angel at all, she knew he'd do his damnedest to protect what was his. She also knew the danger of complacency, and that when it came to Angel, nothing was ever guaranteed.

Wesley was waiting for her response as though he expected to be kicked and she sighed.

"What's C got to say about all this?"

"She doesn't know," he told her, "She's not here."

She took that in. "Okay, so what are you going to do?"

It didn't sound to her like an incredibly idiotic question, but he obviously thought otherwise. He looked incredulous.

"What am I – what am I going to do!" He actually laughed. She took another step away, and he almost instantly sobered.

"I don't see as there's much I can do," he admitted, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. 2Angel's not exactly…rational when it comes to Connor. I'm on my own here. I'm on my own and I can't…" He stopped and looked away, and Faith respected that. She wouldn't ask any more of him.

She turned around and walked a little distance away, looking out onto the street. Stuff was fucked up here, that was for sure. And she hated it. Hated that she'd had to get involved in the first place. Hated Angel most of all for needing any of this. God damn vampire fought every day to save other people, people he'd never seen before, and he couldn't even protect his own son. She had to help him.

She looked back at where Wesley was slowly picking himself up from the wall, pummelling the heels of his hands into the sides of his temple. Yeah, she had to help him too.

He stumbled towards her without acknowledging her presence and walked past, considering this his cue to leave. Catatonic Wesley was a new one, and she frowned at the sight. She'd made up her mind before this conversation, if that's what you could call it, had even started. Forcing aside her reservations was easy when she put her new self-appointed task to the forefront of her mind, and she did it without a second thought. Mission Number One: don't let Wesley out of her sight. She followed him.

"Where are we going?" she asked jauntily, pulling alongside him with almost a skip in her step.

He glanced at her sideways with a wary look, almost as if he had never seen her before, or like he hadn't noticed she was there. This was jump-at-my-own-shadow Wesley, but this wasn't entirely new.

"What do you mean 'we'?" he asked dazedly, genuinely astonished at her question. He kept walking.

"You know, you, me, the place we're headed." She talked slowly. "Where, are, we, going?"

He was trying to ignore her, pretend she wasn't there. She had some experience with defence mechanisms, and she recognised this one immediately. Last attempt to get out of this when all other tactics had failed. Scratching and kicking wasn't working, neither was hissing and spitting. Crying or kissing just wasn't an option, not that she hadn't tried those ones a few times herself, so that left outright denial. Desperate clinging hope that she'd get bored and go away on her own. This was automatic shielding, the last defence of a tired psyche, and her last barrier to burrow through. She knew how to deal with it. It would be too easy.

When he didn't answer, she raised her eyebrows in obvious query and waved a hand in front of his face. "Hello?" she yelled. He flinched away before he could stop himself and Faith stopped in front of him.

"You know, I think I liked half-crazy, nasty Wesley better," she told him and grabbed him by the arm, slamming him against the building they were walking by. She had to hold tightly to him to stop herself from flipping down onto the sidewalk as his fist smashed across her jaw. She let go of her grip and groaned appreciatively, cupping her cheek gingerly.

She turned back grinned at him with bloody teeth as he panted at her with rage, all the light back in his eyes. She didn't think she'd ever miss a look like that, but something told her he needed it right now, and it always did seem to work for her. He trembled with barely contained violence and her smile grew wider.

"Don't touch me again," he hissed at her.

"Ya see. I knew you were in there somewhere." She spat on the floor and wiped her mouth, pleased by the way he narrowed his eyes at her. "Come on, I forgive ya. Let's go."

She conceded to his request, however, and held her hands up in a placating gesture. Half bowing to indicate he should go first, she waited for him to say something. He didn't. Again, she followed him as he stalked off in disgust.

"Am I pissing you off yet?" she asked cheerily and got an almost Angel-like growl in return. "Good. 'Cause I ain't letting you get away. We're in this together whether you like it or not and you're going to help me."

He rounded on her. "Why in sunny hell would I ever want to help you? I don't like you. You don't like me. I'm happy not to have to address that issue. I don't have time to babysit you."

"You're just full of the happy-clappies now, aren't you?" She gave him a false smile that went nicely with her tone. "I don't want hug. I don't want to hold hands. What I want is to do what I came here to do and what you were supposed to do with me. Or didn't you get that memo? We both landed on our ass at the same time and then happened to bump into each other? I know you're not that naïve."

"It doesn't matter what you want, Faith. I'm not going to watch you."

"That's too bad. Guess I'll have to do the watching for now, until you warm to the idea. I know you'll come around to it in the end." She held up her hand to stop any argument before it came out of his mouth. "It's just tough. You ain't losing me, so deal with it."

…………………

When they finally made it to the apartment, Wesley looked like he was about ready to collapse. He had not spoken another word to Faith since they'd left the street in search of a bus and had gone from desperately trying to ignore her infuriating humming all the way there to just concentrating on staying on his feet.

He'd attempted to slam the door behind him as he'd entered in order to make a point, but instead only managed to push the thing closed. Faith opened it again anyway and came in, a fake pout on her face.

"Gee, real mature, Wes. I'm hurt."

He dismissed her immediately and ignored her comments about his décor as he went about changing his clothes. Thankfully, she didn't feel the need to follow him all the way through the apartment, obviously trusting he couldn't squeeze through the bathroom window to freedom. Whether he had wanted to or not, he found he couldn't summon the energy to care anyway.

Faith examined the living room as her charge locked himself in the bathroom. She spared a brief thought for the bottle of scotch on the table before shrugging and pouring herself a glass, then proceeded to raid the cupboards for something to eat. She was disappointed to find little of much interest.

Determined to make the best of a bad situation, she went about fixing herself a sandwich and plopped down in front of the television, slightly surprised to see a game consol sat on one side. She pondered this as she did the cheap beer she'd seen in the fridge as some blond bimbo pranced across the screen screeching. She changed the channel. She never could stand that soft rock crap.

This brought her to Mission Number Two: convince Wesley to accept her here. She didn't think she'd have much trouble integrating herself quietly into the background of his life for the moment. She figured she had a good couple of days at least before he was anywhere near in a condition to really notice her properly, and she decided to take full advantage of that fact.

The bathroom door opened in the background and she pretended not to hear it, listening intently to the sounds coming from the bedroom. Each movement sounded laboured as he dressed again, sloping around like he was on auto-pilot. She had plenty of time to plan her next move.

After a good few minutes and when it seemed like Wesley wasn't going to speak, she shouted to him over the din of the TV.

"Where am I gonna crash?" she demanded round a mouthful, not taking her eyes from the screen. She noticed with satisfaction that he came around to face her at that, and she smiled serenely up at him as she chewed noisily.

Wesley had to blink a couple of times to take in the scene. Faith had commandeered his couch, her booted feet resting against the armrest as she sprawled languidly, crumbs falling unnoticed around her. His whiskey stood open in front of her.

Faith noted the lost look and almost took pity on him.

"Tell me again why you're here?" he asked, and this time the quietness wasn't any more sinister than simple exhaustion.

"Somewhere else I'm s'pposed to go?" She was avoiding the issue and they both knew it. She took another bite of her sandwich.

He seemed to accept that for the moment and nodded to himself as if she'd told him something very complicated. Sinking into the nearest chair, he regarded her thoughtfully. Faith continued to watch the screen, sucking dripping mustard from her fingers with all the charm of dog chewing a nettle.

"Those aren't your clothes," he announced after ten or so minutes, to which Faith simply offered a nonchalant shrug.

Clearly deciding not to ask, Wesley instead focused his attention on what Faith was watching.

Not paying any attention to the screen, she continued to assess the man in her peripheral vision. So far as she could tell, he no longer seemed that bothered by her presence, whether due to apathy or fatigue she didn't know. She'd certainly expected a more immediate confrontation about their history, even if it was something she'd just as soon never have mentioned again, and now that she really thought about it, that was weird. For him to be so tolerant of her so soon just seemed so…wrong.

Still, if he could ignore the white elephant, then so could she. Happily. Ugly fucker'd been following her around for too long now anyway. Making a mental note to test the water some other time she reached for her glass and knocked it back in one.

"Hope you don't mind," she said after a thought, reaching for the rest of the bottle.

She looked up to find him on another planet entirely and didn't bother repeating herself. He was done listening to her for the night.

"Guess you won't, then," she said instead. She poured herself another very generous glass and toasted him silently before leaning back into the cushions. She chuckled as a three-piece band was booed of the stage and stuffed the last corner of bread in her mouth. She almost choked when Wesley got up abruptly.

"I'm sorry that I…" he faltered miserably and pursed his lips, perhaps distracted by Faith's undignified stare, mouth full and halted mid-chew.

She accepted his unfinished apology with an almost imperceptible nod and he seemed satisfied, moving off for the bedroom gratefully. It occurred to her that she must have looked utterly bewildered, although she couldn't think why she'd acted that way. She guessed she just wasn't expecting that.

She swallowed the rest hastily and sat up, taking a breath to say…something. But when she looked round she found that her audience was gone, and she let it out as a sigh. Wesley lay where he had fallen like he was beached, fully clothed and half falling to the floor. He was going to ache when he woke up.

"Don't you worry about me," she told him quietly, "I'll be fine right here."


	6. Chapter 6: The Decision

Disclaimer: I make no profit from this and I don't own any of the characters. It's all for my own amusement.

Feedback: Thanks go to Ruth Quist, awall, gopie and MysticWolf1 for their kind reviews. They fed the ravenous fiction ego that lurks in my head and made it want to give you more, so here you go.

Author's note: I couldn't resist a bit more Faith and Wesley interaction, I love them so. The meat of the story picks up in the next chapter, but until then…

……………………

The room is dark and the ceiling presses down upon him uncomfortably. A lingering sense of something wrong, something waiting just beyond his mental reach, taunts him in the distance, but every time he tries to grasp it, it slips away. He shifts uneasily as it continues to elude him, a growing feeling of anxiety creeping over him. Something isn't right, but he can't remember why that is.

The bed dips slightly and Lilah looks over at him with hunger in her eyes. He feels a strong desire to force it out of her somehow. He doesn't want her here but he can't let her go.

"Isn't this what you wanted, lover?" she asks him with a purr, and he crushes his mouth to hers to silence her. The sheets of the bed stick to him, and she laughs.

This seems familiar somehow, and he latches onto it eagerly, wanting her to take away the uncertainty. She can distract him from the awful truth. Gentle, talon-like fingers caress his face, sliding down his jaw line, and he feels afraid. Inexplicable, perhaps, but it suddenly demands all of his attention, all the more potent when he can't think of the reason for it.

"Wait, stop," he begs her, but she simply smiles and hushes him, her fingers continuing their course.

He finds now that he cannot lift his arms to protect himself and so bares his neck to her in submission. Her eyes grow hard and serious as she traces the outline of a gaping wound and her hair flashes red in the light. He can't breathe.

The red liquid seeps into the fabric of the sheets as she brings her coated fingers away, examining them carefully.

"You suffer so beautifully," she tells him sadly. He wants to answer her, to tell her that this is not the way it is supposed to go, but his throat will no longer work.

"No matter," she says with a sigh, "We both know you cannot save me." A baby cries in the distance and he panics again, struggling to rise. She pushes him back down.

"There's nothing you can do," she says, and a tear slips over her cheek as she turns her head away, watching the shadow approach. "Don't fight it now, lover, it's for the best."

She squeezes his hand and moves from his sight, but the bed does not spring back lighter with the shift of her weight. He wants to tell her that it is odd, but still, he cannot find the breath. He continues to bleed until he is soaked, and he feels profoundly humiliated. _Don't leave me_ he thinks forlornly.

"Angel," he hears his own voice call out, though it couldn't have come from him. "Help me…"

But he doesn't. The approaching shadow materialises and Angel looks down on him, ridges and fangs erupting.

"I don't hate you," the vampire says as he looms down, and something muffles the light and sound. Wesley still can't breathe, but this time he knows he will die.

……………..

He woke to the sounds of movement in his kitchen and momentarily forgot where he was.

The threads of reality separated slowly from dream and he rubbed a hand over his eyes, determined not to give in to temptation and check his neck for a slash. At least the headache was gone.

"Son of a bitch…" floated to him through the bedroom door and the entire nights events smashed into him like a brick. The dread renewed once again.

He hauled himself up with the resignation that had lately attached itself firmly to his being and padded into his living room. It was with a great sense of detached unreality that he took in the scene.

Several bags littered a trail towards where Faith was sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the kitchen floor, sucking on her finger. She glared at it for a second, then removed various items from the bag in her lap and delved into the open cupboard by her side, arranging them to her satisfaction. With that, she then screwed up the now empty bag and threw it over her shoulder. She reached for the next.

"Cupboard or fridge?" she asked the counter in front of her, and Wesley frowned. She waved a bag or oranges above her head to provoke his answer and he realised she was talking to him.

"Ah, the cupboard, I think," he stammered quickly, trying to cover his surprise.

The oranges were promptly plunged onto the shelf next to the other items and she pushed the door closed with her hip as she stood. She continued to rummage around the room without so much as a glance in his direction, and with a heavy blink, Wesley took a moment to scan his apartment.

The couch cushions had been rearranged into a vaguely nest-like structure with a blanket draped over the back. Objects like the remote, plates, glasses and food items in various stages of use lay scattered in easily accessible places. Faith's chunky boots lay next to each other under his coffee table beside a pile of screwed up clothing that had been hastily discarded by its owner. It took a second to process until Wesley took another close look at his guest.

Clothed now in a simple white tank top and khaki pants, Faith caught his appraisal and raised an eyebrow. "I went shopping," she said. He couldn't think of anything to say to that.

She moved further into the room and leaned round to get a pointed look at his wall clock.

"It's 9.30 you know," she informed him. There was a pause as though she expected him to react to that information in some way. "Shouldn't you be at work already or something?"

It struck him that he hadn't really considered his standing in the group anymore, especially since things had become more complicated. He hadn't actually given much thought at all to his plans since the day he'd left the hotel. Faith's blunt question brought home just how directionless he was now, and he had no idea what he should do next. Getting through each five minute slot had taken up much of his concentration these last few days.

"Things have changed somewhat since you were last here, Faith," he began, expecting to have to launch into a lengthy explanation despite his feeble attempts at evasion.

"No shit," she replied with an obvious up-and-down look at him. He frowned disapprovingly at her, the beginnings of annoyance stirring already. "Anyway, that's not what I meant. I get that you guys aren't all with the friendlies right now. It doesn't matter to me. I meant that isn't it about time we got our asses over there? Angel's gotta be half way to a hernia right about now."

"You can't be serious."

"What?"

"I'm not just going to just turn up for work and pretend that nothing has happened. I'm not Angel's hired babysitter. And certainly neither are you."

Faith rolled her eyes at him then in that long-suffering way Cordelia used to do, and the initial twinges of annoyance morphed into full-fledged indignation. One night on his couch and a highly questionable attempt to restock his kitchen did not buy her this kind of familiarity. She didn't know him, and she was in absolutely no position to judge his actions.

If he admitted it to himself, he was slightly unnerved by the elusiveness of her motives. He couldn't figure her out, and that never put him at ease. Being on guard against her every move and imagining threats where it was proven again and again that there were none had left him on edge, and he had to make the conscious effort to force himself back into calm.

"Faith, I'm not going to argue with you," he said, trying to squash her before she got started. It was clear to anyone with even half the social intelligence of a stone that an argument was exactly what she wanted.

Faith didn't even bother to dignify that patented Wesley condescension with her attention. He was trying to redirect her, but she would not be put off that easily. She continued as though he hadn't interrupted her.

"Oh come on, Wes. I'm not asking you to act all normal or anything." Wesley began to shake his head at her and she could see she was losing him. "Look, you know we gotta do this. Don't tell me you've been hiding here all this time."

That did it.

"It's not a case of hiding," he said, exasperated. Despite all his efforts, he was heating, and the damn girl was behaving like she was enjoying it.

"Oh yeah? Okay then, so why? What'd he do, fire you or somethin'?"

Wesley thought for a second before he answered quietly, "In a manner of speaking."

_Oh, shit,_ came to mind, but Faith didn't give it voice. The self-depreciating triumph on Wesley's face at a point well made further destroyed her footing.

"So you see," he began again, turning for the bathroom, "no one's exactly expecting me, or you for that matter. I'm sorry if that inconveniences you."

What had started as a little game of wind-up-Wesley had begun to fray her own temper, and she began to smoulder herself. She wondered if Wesley liked the person he had become, or was becoming. As he shut the door on her, she wondered if he had even noticed. He surely couldn't be in that much denial.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" she shouted through the door to him, registering the intentional silence as he ignored her. Running water began as though to drown her out and she clenched her fists. She decided to try for the guilt-trip effect.

"What about me, huh? Does it look like I have a choice here? I've gotta go do this thing whether I want to or not, I've got nowhere else to go. The least you could do is have the decency to be there with me."

The door was opened again suddenly with such force that Faith half imagined the resulting suction pulling her from the room, and she smirked to herself with satisfaction.

"What makes you think I owe you a _thing_?" Wesley asked her dangerously, and there were just too many implications being suggested. In a blatant attempt to divert the conversation back to flippancy, she began to laugh at him, and it diffused her doubt somewhat. That was a route she knew she had no defence for.

"Jesus, Wes, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or what."

He made an infuriated noise and turned to go back, stopped only by Faith's hand gripping the door. She made a point of looking at him straight, all humour gone from her face.

"Let's just get this sorted once and for all," she implored him seriously. "Angel will find us sooner or later, and I want it to be on our own terms. He won't leave it alone, Wes, and you know it."

She had his attention, and she could see him considering the truth of her reasoning. He looked about as thrilled by the prospect of being hounded by Angel as she was, although she knew that was at least in part the reason why he wanted to completely avoid the issue in the first place.

He wasn't keen on being used, that much was clear. They had something in common, then. At least this way, they had the chance of setting down their own rules before Angel started making assumptions. If she was going to be around him for the next indeterminable amount of time, trapped almost, it was going to start off on the right course. No one forced Faith to do anything she didn't want to.

"For Connor's sake," she added when the indecision stretched, needing that last nudge to persuade him.

Immediately, it felt like a cheap shot. The flash of self-disgust that crossed his features seemed truly to hurt him and she regretted having said it. Any thoughts to chastise her for using the child she didn't even know as ammunition against him were buried thoroughly by that pain as though he had accepted the unvoiced accusation.

He nodded slightly at her then without a word, and she wondered why he seemed to look so defeated.

…………….

Faith waited impatiently in the car for Wesley to come out of his apartment building, taking the time to fiddle with the air conditioning controls and roll down her window. She stuck an elbow out and rested it over the door like a trucker. She then rearranged her legs awkwardly and managed to shuck one foot up onto the seat, leaving her upper thigh and knee projected upwards. It would bug the hell out of Wesley.

His one condition for accompanying her to their first appearance at the hotel was that he would be the one to drive, and she'd acquiesced to his demand gracefully. One more excuse not to come along and he'd be firmly rooted to his apartment carpet.

Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she relished the brief moment of peace and freedom, not daring to dwell too intently on what the immediate future might hold for her. It occurred to her that, had she not been bound to her new mission so securely, she would currently be completely without purpose. Not to mention still in jail. It was perhaps the reason why she had convinced herself of this responsibility so entirely.

She promised herself then to make sure she didn't get carried away with herself and to examine her moves more logically. The moment she got to emotionally involved with this, she would have to stop. It was all in the interests of self-preservation. Make too many connections and you get weighed down and drowned, and she did not want to go through that again. She couldn't afford to.

Pulling her traitorous thoughts away from introspection, she concentrated again on the current situation. It was time for Mission Number Three: get this tragic freak show on the road. And Wesley was taking his God-damned time about it.

She briefly entertained the idea of rummaging through the contents of the glove compartment to alleviate her boredom when Wesley finally emerged, a large and heavy looking duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He opened one of the back doors and swung it into the car before climbing into the driver's seat.

"What's in the bag?" Faith asked him as he pulled away from the sidewalk.

"Some books we might need, and some of the research I've been doing," he answered simply, not taking his eyes from the road.

"Fun," she said, it being evident that he was not in a particularly chatty mood.

She looked him over as he drove, surprised to find that he hadn't shaved. That, combined with his new dress sense kinda… suited him. He also wasn't wearing glasses, and she briefly wondered if she should be concerned by that fact. She brushed it off. Wesley, meanwhile, was using the road as an excuse not to have to look at her and ignored her scrutiny valiantly. Faith found herself amused.

Cracking each finger individually from tip to knuckle took up about five minutes of the journey, but so far failed to induce a reaction from him. Drumming her fingernails repeatedly across the dashboard also got no response.

She reached forward to the radio and deliberately began punching random buttons, pleased with the hideous noises it began eliciting with her clumsy attempts at tuning. Wesley's grip tightened slightly on the wheel and she hid a smile, warming to her act. She let her tongue protrude slightly and furrowed her brow, feigning confusion as the volume increased and it settled on a particularly intrusive dance station. Wesley immediately leaned over and turned it down.

"Are you even wearing your seat belt?" he demanded, irritated.

"Concerned for my safety now, are ya?"

"I'm more concerned about the potential damage to my windscreen if you decided to fly headfirst through it. I'm sure _you_ would be just fine."

"Wow, thanks," she drawled, clicking her belt into place despite herself. "Since when did you become so acidic, anyway? It's like I can hardly breathe around here without you chewin' me out. You need to relax."

She purposely looked away from him and out of the window, and she guessed he would appreciate the space. She tapped her palms rhythmically against her leg in time to the music as if she hadn't even noticed his struggle to compose himself. It gave him the time he needed. He took in and released a long, slow breath and pulled the car round a corner.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually with genuine apology, "I've just been… I'll try to be more…civil."

"Hey, I don't need doors held open or anything," she told him, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled slightly, and she was satisfied.

The rest of the ride to the hotel progressed in a far more companionable silence from then on, and Faith made the effort to catalogue the landmarks on the way. As they pulled up and parked, a distinct feeling of reluctance began to take hold. She couldn't imagine where it had come from, or why it had made itself known now, but she didn't like it.

As Wesley went about retrieving the books and locking up the car, Faith stood and stared up towards the roof of the huge hotel, taking it all in. Now came the crunch. She knew without a doubt that once she started this, there was no backing out. She'd get sucked into this stupid little goody-goody camp and swallowed whole if she wasn't careful, and the mere thought of receptionist-Faith and all its sugary connotations made her shudder. There was no way on this sunny green earth that she was going to let them dull her edges. She'd see to it her Watcher stayed that way too.

Wesley strode towards the doors with a false bravado she knew he didn't feel and halted when she didn't follow. He turned back to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked with a frown when he noticed her stern face. She shook herself.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, and put on a mask of nonchalance to put him more at ease. This would go a lot more smoothly if at least one of them looked like they knew what they were doing.

She walked past him to go through the doors first and was actually relieved when he fell in place directly behind her. She didn't have to do this alone. He had her back.


	7. Chapter 7: The Return

Disclaimer: 'Angel' and characters are not mine, and I make no profit from this.

Feedback: Thanks again to everyone who reads and reviews, your opinions and critique is highly valued. Special mentions go to gopie, MysticWolf1 (hope I can make Angel more convincing, and thanks for the review on my old story), cheebs, Ruth Quist, Enfleurage and LoganAlpha30. I'm glad you liked the latest chapter.

Author's note: I am right in the middle of writing my final dissertation that has to be handed in at the end of April, so updates are going to be slow until then. I hope you can bear with me. Also, I have just set up 'Divine Intervention: The Angel Challenge Forum' here at and I'm looking for more people to submit challenges of their own. Or come along and accept one. And if you want some dark Angel fic, check out my C2 'The Deeper Well'.

Okay, on with the story…

…………………………..

Hey. Hey, you….

That's right, I'm talkin' to you, genius. Not falling asleep on me, are ya? I'm not even halfway through this little tale yet. Do you think you could concentrate? I'm getting to the good bit.

I bet you can't wait to find out what's gonna happen. I can smell the anticipation from here. Well, hang onto your panties, 'cause it's gonna get rough. In the meantime, I've got an interesting little aside for you, just in case you want to know.

You might recall that in the previous run of this little story, and at around this point in the timeline, I became rather 'inconveniently' trapped in an urn. (And yes, I'm using the highly sarcastic air-quotes at this point.) Yeah, you remember that bit. It's kinda the point of this whole sorry ordeal. Let's just say I'm not looking to repeat the experience.

Said urn has been thoroughly disposed of now, I can assure you. That old coot Cyvus sure did squeal some. Unfortunately for him, he noticed it approaching on an uncannily accurate path towards his wrinkly face just a tad too late. But that's a story for another day. Suffice to say the stupid jar is gone, and Vail ain't gonna be crapping no magic any time soon.

All very tidy, I hear you say, but what's that got to do with our perky heroes? Well, let me enlighten you.

Wolfram and Hart like things to run on their own time-scale. The Senior Partners are infamous for their apocalyptic plans, as I'm sure you know, and they have their very many scaly and pointy fingers in a lot of pies. The frikkin' weirdos are control freaks of the nth degree. You should have seen them try to rein _me_ in. But anyway, I'm getting off topic.

The Circle of the Black Thorn was one of their key instruments in this dimension, and you can bet that every single member of it had a broad and thorough knowledge of just about everything that concerned the Senior Partners, including the comings and goings of Angel and co. It's true now, and it was true last time.

Whether the doddery old cripple knew it or not, Vail's services had been employed twice in that previous timeline; once when Angel took over the L.A. branch, and once before that, before any thoughts of such a grand 'new management' offer had even crossed the Partners' collective, incorporeal minds.

That's right boys and girls, they'd been mind screwing our little group for a good, long while.

The thing is, this first attempt wasn't really anything to with their 'must-have-Angel-on-a-tight-leash' obsession at all.

Odd, you might think. And yeah, I'll give you that. If I had such resources at my disposal, the temptation would certainly be there to use them. But see, what you've got to understand is, cheating tends to come back and bite you in the ass. The Partners, in all their evil, transcendent wisdom, knew this well enough. Hell, it's not like they haven't had millennia to practice.

No, they figured they had to win Angel over fair and square, or risk null and voiding the whole prophecy gig. They're lawyers, for Christ's sake. Not gonna happen.

Pulling out the big guns was reserved for emergencies only, and when it came to someone trying a sneaky apocalypse on their turf, you can bet it qualified. Jasmine, this uppity Power That Be type that fancied a trip down with the great unwashed, wanted to try just that.

The way I figure it, the L.A. branch mystics must have gotten wind of this some time back when the kid was newly spawned, but I guess they didn't count on the whole Beast debacle cutting it quite so close to the bone. Otherwise, you can bet they'd have done a tiny bit more about it before it got so ugly. As it happened, Wolfram and Hart was gutted at the time, which knocked them back a notch or two, but our dark hero eventually stepped in a saved the day in the end. Phew.

But you knew all that anyway.

What I'm saying is, even though they couldn't have predicted the eventual gory outcome, they knew this Jasmine chick was bad news. Heaven on earth wasn't exactly what they were aiming for, you know? And as for her having total control? Not gonna fly. So they tried to put her back a bit. They probably thought they'd done a good job too, maybe even put her off indefinitely.

They messed with her vessel's mind. The seed had been in the Seer from the beginning, since the visions were passed. It needed the demonic element to spark the growth, which with it should have brought on a greater awareness of evil. By rights, it should have prepared the way, influencing the Seer and controlling events until the final transmission could be orchestrated.

As it happened, Wolfram and Hart had a little Vail mojo brought in, and hey presto! The Seer carries on, virtually unaware of the effect that's going on apart from the odd few subconscious nudgings and the occasional floaty light…thingy. The Partners had stalled Jasmine's arrival by restoring the majority of the Seer's own control.

Course, the darker Powers got a tad impatient at this stage. Once they were sure the kid had gone off the deep end and would play for their team, they sucked their vessel straight out of the dimension and did some direct mind-tinkering of their own. And yeah, you know the rest.

This time, obviously, things are going to go a little differently. I kill Vail, no mind alteration by the Partners, Jasmine's plans aren't delayed and so on.

Ah, but wait. Here's the complicated part. I kinda accidentally screwed up the kid's destiny. Oops. Now there's no Destroyer to bring on the arrival of Jasmine with a bit of in-the-sack action. At least not yet, anyway. You can bet that pissed the Powers off.

So, what'll they do? I'll tell ya. They're gonna get their foothold in there now, before anything else can go wrong, that's what.

The Seer should be back any time now. I'd keep my eye on her, if I were you. The Powers won't let a golden opportunity like an absence from the group go unused. But I'm spoiling it for you. I'll let you wait and see. Don't want you missing all the surprises, now, do we…

………………………………

Faith only had to take one step inside the hotel lobby for the sickly, cutesy baby smell to hit her full-on in the face. She wrinkled her nose and cursed it at the same time, wishing for once to have just an average, run of the mill cold. Anything to soften the blow. Stupid Slayer senses.

Wesley entered right behind her and let the door close slowly, concealing their entrance by default. No one arrived to greet them.

Making an effort not to appear too nervous, Faith stomped down the steps and swung around slowly, her eyes sweeping the balconies and the high ceiling. A smile plastered itself across her lips as her revolution brought her facing Wes, and he looked mildly amused by her appreciation.

"Sweet crib", she murmured approvingly.

Piles of open books and papers lay abandoned on the counter; some used take-out cartons stacked roughly to the side. Someone had used a large and heavy paperweight as a bookmark and another tome lay flat and open, spine-side up. Faith could practically feel the wince behind her.

Other than that, it all looked pretty empty.

A squeal of delight from the inner-office broke the silence, followed by a muffled but pleased sounding voice. Faith looked at Wesley and received only a raised eyebrow in response.

She approached the half-open door at the entrance to the room, pushing it wider with a cautious hand. She peered in and was surprised at what she saw. She'd never seen Angel with a child before.

The infant was laid on his back on the desk, his father attentively tending to his clothes. He tucked the tiny little sweater into Connor's miniature pants, patting down the resulting bulge of fabric and beaming proudly.

"You are so cute, yes you are," Angel whispered to him, poking his chest with a waggling finger.

He balled up the baby-wipe debris and launched it towards the bin on the other side of the room. It bounced off the wall, fell into the can and Angel preformed a little victory dance, much to the enjoyment of his audience.

"Yeah! And he scores! The crowd is going wild!"

Fully dressed and highly entertained, Connor gurgled happily. He waved his tiny feet at his father energetically and reached to pull off a sock.

"Oh no you don't," Angel admonished him playfully, taking the little fist in his own hand. He bent his head down and grasped the two failing legs in the other, tickling the soles of Connor's feet with his nose. Another bubbling giggle rewarded his efforts and he grinned.

"Anybody home?" Faith asked with a smirk, and Angel spun like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Faith!" he squeaked, "Uh, I was just… Connor needed a diaper change."

He cleared his throat and picked up his son, cradling him to his body. His serious face descended. "What can I…um, you're back."

"Ten out of ten for observation", Faith smiled, indicating Connor. "You're good with him."

Angel relaxed perceptibly and allowed a small smile to escape, seemingly relieved. "That's kinda my job," he said warmly. "Say hi to Faith, Connor."

Connor's small fist was eased from his mouth and waved roughly in Faith's direction, glistening dribble and all. Faith couldn't help the absurd laughter threatening to erupt and was almost tempted to wave back. She crushed that urge immediately.

After all her reservations so far, this happy little scene didn't sit right with her fears, and she didn't think she'd ever seen Angel so comfortable. It eased her significantly and she found she was genuinely pleased for them. She'd made the right choice.

"So, this is the urchin, huh? Ugly little monster, just like his dad."

Angel frowned at her and moved to put his hands over his son's ears.

"Don't listen Connor, she's only jealous," he admonished, breaking into another smile as she snorted in disbelief.

Settling Connor more securely against his chest, Angel lowered his voice. His tone became serious, and Faith realised that they were done with the jokes for now.

"Is Wesley here?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"Out there," she replied.

He took a deep and unneeded breath. "Okay, I can do this. I think we all need to talk."

Faith couldn't have agreed more with that. She waited for Angel to stow the baby safely in his cot patiently, noting the care he took. Connor settled remarkably well and without a fuss, a testament to his father's skill. He turned back to her with a softness to his expression that she had rarely seen.

"So, how have you been, Faith?"

He moved round the desk and she turned to follow him into the lobby, all the while thinking how to best answer the question.

She realised they'd had little time for catch up, and now was certainly not the best time to get into the visitations thing. She'd long accepted that her part in Angel's life could not have remained prominent indefinitely, not that she'd needed him to hold her hand.

At the same time, she was not going to apologise for her behaviour the previous day. They all had unresolved issues, but business had to come first. For the moment, if they could play nice, that was all good, and they could get personal later on. She decided to go with a simple answer.

"Oh, you know," she started with a shrug. "The usual. Jail kinda sucks, but I'm doing good. The counsellor says I'm making real progress." She allowed the sarcasm to creep into her voice and was convinced she'd heard Angel chuckle to himself. "Not gonna get all guilt-trippy on me now, are ya?"

"You're a big girl now, Faith", he told her by way of explanation, and she was glad.

"Fab, 'cause I'm so over it."

"So we're still good?" he asked then, and the sincerity gave Faith pause.

"Were we not?" Angel gave her a brief look over his shoulder and she ignored him. "You know, I'm touched. I feel like we've bonded."

He didn't push the issue any further, and she felt grateful that she'd kept her cover. Angel's friendship had always meant a lot to her. He'd been the only one never to give up on her, and to lose that relationship with him would be more devastating to her than she'd ever admit to herself. She'd not let on to his face, of course, although she suspected he already knew.

She liked to play her cards close to her chest, but for all his social inadequacies, Angel could be remarkably perceptive. It was a game they played, and she always liked play the self-schooled, intentional loner. Didn't necessarily mean the pretence was the truth.

Wesley had spread some of his own information along the counter-top and looked up as they approached.

"I'm glad you're here," Angel said simply, "both of you."

"We figured we have a job to do," Faith explained. "I gotta say you're methods could use a serious amount of thought, but if you need me, I'm in."

She left it open-ended, and Angel smiled his thanks. "That's great!" he said with enthusiasm, mellowing somewhat as he turned cautiously to Wes.

Wesley couldn't dispel the feeling of history repeating itself as he lowered his eyes. He decided to be blunt about his feeling this time around.

"I'm still not good with this, with _us_," he said, and Angel momentarily looked as though he'd been slapped, "but if you need my help, you have it."

Angel seemed to take that in and accepted it for what it was worth. He nodded his understanding and made an effort to meet Wesley's eyes.

"It means a lot", he said.

Clearly uncomfortable, Wes immediately changed the subject. "I've brought some more of the sources I was using from before… from when this prophecy came to light. I was hoping to spend some more time on it. We might come across a better explanation of this whole thing."

"That's good", Angel said, trying to sound confident. "Fred and Gunn should be back soon, maybe they can help. They went to ask around about the spell we did, see if we should expect any more surprises."

"What should I do?" Faith asked. "Just stand around and…protect stuff?"

"Um, I guess."

"Great. I get to be super-mom. I know crap-all about kids."

"Well then, why don't you make yourself useful and acquaint yourself with the coffee machine?" Wesley suggested, to which she smiled cheerily. She casually flipped him off on her way past.

He snickered darkly and went back to his book, shouting "Two sugars!" as a second thought. Angel was sure Wesley didn't hear the 'bite me' that was muttered back.

"So, I see you two have… talked."

"She bought me groceries", Wesley said cryptically, not taking his eyes from the text.

"Right," Angel said, slightly confused. "So, you're okay with that? With…her?"

Wesley sighed. "Not that it really concerns you, but I believe I'm coping perfectly well, thank you. I've managed a whole night without needing to be rescued once, and the minute she threatens to take a knife to me I'll be sure to let you know."

Not quite sure how to reply to that, Angel let the pause stretch.

"I was worried last night," he eventually admitted sheepishly, and Wesley's sharpness relented.

"We've come to an understanding," Wes elaborated, and left it at that.

Angel considered this. Several unanswered questions about the events of the previous night continued to prick at his thoughts, but he decided not to ask. The tenuous truce was not worth risking for the sake of demanding more information, and it would be safer to talk to Faith about it at a later date.

He pondered the changes he'd seen, and everything that had been said and done. He didn't know how to take it all back. Wesley's air of professionalism was almost unbearable, but if it was what he needed, then he'd let him have it. He'd just try to keep things smooth until the holes could be repaired.

Wesley finally looked up pointedly, and Angel realised he was hovering.

"Is there something you can be doing?" Wesley asked impatiently, and Angel moved away.

"I'll just go help Faith bring the coffee over," he said lamely. Trying not to appear chastised, he made his way towards the fresh smell and Faith smirked at him knowingly. He ignored her look and she handed him two mugs.

"Hope it's strong enough," she said. "I don't really do the whole domestic-goddess thing."

"Don't worry, you'll learn," he said suggestively, earning him a particularly poignant scowl. A jibe well repaid, he deposited his cargo back on the counter. "I'll just go check on Connor."

Before he could cross to the office, the hotel door opened and he turned, expecting Gunn and Fred to have returned from their reconnaissance. Instead, Cordelia stood at the top of the steps, a bag in each hand and a thunderous glare on her face.

"What the hell is _she_ doing here?" she demanded.


End file.
